Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Last time we set foot in this damned place, it only brought us bad luck!"

Sarah knew better than to curse a foreign land so loudly, but she couldn't bring herself to care. If she had never held her tongue in Bilgewater—where a careless word could get you killed—she certainly wasn't going to start now, least of all in Piltover. There were far more pressing matters than another rude, but ultimately harmless, visitor.

The first time she stepped foot there, years ago, she landed behind bars for months—charged with everything except her actual crimes. But she was lucky. Her connections, both among Piltover's elite and the crime lords of Zaun, had secured her release from Stillwater Prison through the front door. The only condition? A promise never to sail through their waters again. And, in her defense, she had meant it at the time…

But then Silco dangled a deal too tempting to refuse—hextech-powered weapons and Shimmer, a drug of his own making that was spreading through Bilgewater like wildfire. Sarah had a taste for powerful guns and wealth, and drugs were easy profit—both could tip the scales in her fight for Bilgewater's throne.

So, she set sail on The Syren, expecting anything, except arriving to find Silco dead.

His killer, a girl named Jinx, had left her mark not just on Zaun, but on Piltover too—bombing council members, inciting riots, and stirring the undercity into open rebellion. That, combined with Noxus' attempted conquest and the mystery surrounding the hex-core, had sent Piltover spiraling into chaos. The city shut its borders—land, sky, and sea. And just like that, Sarah found herself trapped in Piltover once again.

Only this time, she wasn't alone.

Her crew was stranded with her, caught in the middle of a foreign war.

Like any decent captain, and despite her firm belief that fortune favored the bold, Sarah chose to flee rather than fight when the moment came—prioritizing her crew's safety. They had signed up to be pirates, not soldiers in a war that wasn't theirs.

It proved to be the right call. Piltover and Zaun emerged victorious, seemingly working through their differences at last. Now, all that was left was to wait for the borders to reopen so they could go as smoothly as they had arrived.

Weeks passed. The cities were rebuilt, the dead were mourned, and someone eventually remembered to lift the blockade, setting them free.

A month and four days later, as Zaun grieved the tragic figure of Jinx—the Loose Cannon—The Syren set sail for home.

"To our beautiful captain, Miss Fortune! May luck always favor her!" her crew cheered drunkenly, overjoyed to be back at sea.

Sarah smiled, allowing herself and her people to savor this small victory—at least for the night.

"Remember," she called out, her voice carrying over the waves, "the sea is already set on killing us. If the tide allows it, you're free for the night—but come sunrise, I expect you all sharp. Understood?"

A chorus of nods and murmured agreement followed, and almost as if the sea had heeded her words, it granted them a poisoned gift: a night of peace.

But at dawn, it turned merciless.

What should have been a three-day journey stretched into a week, and they were still far from Bilgewater. Storms raged, sea creatures struck, blockades delayed them, and small but persistent rival ships drained their time and provisions…

She was never one for gods or superstition, yet the sea—cruel as it was—had always favored her. Or so she believed. It had granted her victory in every battle fought upon its waters. Never, in all her years of sailing, had the sea been so ruthless toward her and the Syren.

The streak of bad luck gnawed at her patience. It soured her usually cheery spirit, dampening the crew's enthusiasm. After all, everyone feared the moment Miss Fortune turned into pure Misfortune. She could be as ruthless as the sea, or worse…

"So many people on this ship, and not a single one can get rid of the plague that's going to starve us all?!" she howled, firing shots into the sky for good measure—no one dared ignore her. "If this keeps up, I'll start throwing people overboard to make sure there's enough food! Out here, we can die of anything but starvation! Did I make myself clear?!"

Yet, despite her threats, the traps, and the crew's relentless efforts, the thief remained elusive. No one could find whatever—or whoever—was stealing their supplies.

Eventually, Sarah and Rafen reached a grim conclusion: they weren't dealing with a what, but a who. The way the culprit covered their tracks was too precise, too deliberate. It had to be human, and that only enraged her more. If there was one thing she couldn't stand, it was ungratefulness. And they were running out of time…

Soon, they would reach a stretch of their route with no ports and no chance to resupply. If they didn't put an end to this soon, they'd be in real trouble.

"Forget the fucking plague! I'll find it myself, and if it turns out to be one of you, you'll be begging to be thrown to the sea!" she bellowed.

Whatever parasite lurked on her ship had become her enemy.

Miss Fortune would never admit how much time, energy, and effort she had poured into tracking it down, nor the number of failed attempts to eradicate it.

Until one day—more by chance than skill—she found the culprit.

A stowaway.

Honestly, it had been stupid not to think of that sooner.

Zaun and Piltover, while recovering, were still in ruins. Even if they truly sought peace, it was a distant goal—optimistic at best. The idea that someone might not trust their life to the fragile hope of peace after years of hatred and instead choose to flee for a fresh start wasn't so far-fetched.

And in different circumstances, she might have pitied them. She might have even offered a helping hand, as she had done for others in the past.

But this stowaway was a parasite—a threat—who had dared to insult her intelligence. Miss Fortune had killed for far less.

Why should she spare her?

"Give me one good reason not to cut off the hand you used to steal," Sarah said, her voice cold, unwavering.

The blue-haired girl smirked, far too casual for someone in her position, and raised her remaining hand. "It's the only one I got left, and it's barely holding together. Worthless, really." Her grin widened. "Besides, I'm not the only thief here. Sure, I'm the only one stealing without your permission, but look at me! You can tell I haven't exactly been feasting. Silco never mentioned you were this grumpy, Captain."

Sarah's eyes narrowed. "You knew Silco?"

"Well, yeah! Otherwise, how would I know what he said about you? Fortune, right?"

"Who the hell are you?" Sarah demanded, gun trained on the girl's chest.

They were alone, thank the gods. If anyone else had been around, she might've had to pull the trigger just to keep appearances. Letting a stowaway mock her was bad for business. And yet, curiosity gnawed at her.

There was something about this girl, something worth figuring out…

"I'm Jinx, Fortune. Or maybe Misfortune," she teased. "What's with all the chaos outside? Thought you were supposed to be lucky."

Sarah's brow furrowed. Jinx.

It couldn't be…

"Yeah, yeah. You're looking at me like you've seen a ghost," Jinx drawled, her bright pink eyes alight with something wild. Mockery. Madness.

"Technically, I am looking at one. Jinx, the dead girl. Or so they said. Should I throw you overboard, see if the sea gets any kinder once you are gone?"

"Do whatever you want. With my luck, even that wouldn't kill me." Jinx grinned, sharp and unbothered. "Sorry for the trouble, Red."

"Trouble?" Sarah sneered. "Stealing food puts this entire ship at risk. You didn't give me 'trouble.' You threatened everyone's life."

Jinx shrugged, exaggerated, almost theatrical. "I don't know anything about ships! Like I said, I barely took anything compared to some of your men. Some of them think they deserve more food than the women on board—even the captain. But hey, I get it. I'm the stowaway. Want me to somersault when I jump the plank? Gotta make a good last impression."

Sarah remained unimpressed, her mind whirring. Jinx wasn't just some reckless thief.

She wasn't an ordinary stowaway. Far from it.

"What were you to Silco?"

Jinx cocked her head, the grin never faltering. "He was like a father to me. A very strange one, but a father, nonetheless. He loved me."

"And yet he didn't protect you?" Sarah mused. "He was important. He had to know they'd come for him eventually—him and his little whirlwind of destruction."

Jinx giggled. "Oh, maybe he did. But I doubt he expected his daughter to pull the trigger. Hard to plan around that one."

Sarah stiffened. She had entertained the possibility that Silco's death was more complicated than the official story. But this girl—Jinx—had just confirmed it.

She killed her own father.

"And you say that so casually?"

Jinx's tone was light, almost dismissive. "He's already forgiven me." Then, her voice dropped. "I never will. But I can't fall apart every time I think about him. Not anymore. Vi thought I could be more than that. I owe it to her to try, even if she never knows I did."

Sarah's eyes sharpened. "Vi?"

That couldn't be right.

Jinx couldn't be talking about the same Vi Sarah had met in Stillwater—the pink-haired fighter who had taken her breath away.

But as she studied the girl in front of her, the resemblance was undeniable. Vi had once mentioned a little sister. But that little girl hadn't been called Jinx…

"Powder?"

Jinx moved faster than Sarah had anticipated. Her smirk vanished. In a blink, she had a gun drawn, her aim as steady as death itself.

Yet, despite the threat, Sarah didn't react with fear. She just tilted her head, assessing, calculating. Powder—Jinx—was younger. Less experienced. The upper hand was still hers. She didn't need to escalate. Not yet.

Jinx's voice was steel when she spoke.

"Name's Jinx, Fortune."

"Miss Fortune to you. Or Captain if that's too long. Why didn't you aim that at me from the start?"

"Because it's your ship, and I broke your rules. If you'd decided to throw me overboard, that was your call."

"How respectful—for a stowaway."

"Why don't you shoot me?"

"Because whatever your name is, if you're Vi's sister and Silco's daughter, I can't kill you. Pirates aren't known for their virtues, but loyalty? That, I believe in. Now, let's both put our weapons down on the count of three, shall we?"

"And you know I will, because…?"

"If you're her sister and his daughter, you will."

And so, they did. On the count of three, both let their weapons fall. Sarah even turned her back, fetching a bottle and offering Jinx a drink.

"Never liked alcohol."

"Then I'll drink alone." Sarah took a swig, watching her guest with keen curiosity. "I'll make you a deal, Loose Cannon. You clean the ship—janitor's work. That earns you a bed, food, and a small wage. More than fair, considering I cover all basic needs aboard. In exchange, you tell me who's been robbing me."

"And what happens to them?"

"That's my business. Do we have a deal?"

"Where are we headed?"

"Bilgewater."

Jinx groaned, dramatic as ever. "So, I've gone from a terrible place to an even worse one. Just my luck!"

Sarah smirked. "Hey, watch your tongue! The Syren sails all over Runeterra. Piltover and Noxus are off my itinerary for now but stick around—or earn your way—and you might just land wherever you please."

"All that just for mopping floors and snitching?"

"A ship's mess is messy..."

"...And being a snitch will make me popular with your crew." Jinx grinned, tilting her head. "Should that bother me?"

"Does it?"

Jinx shrugged. "Not really, I'm used to being despised. But I want something in return."

Sarah arched a brow. "Something in return? Is this or death, Jinx."

"Relax, Captain. I just want some old weapons or scrap metal. You wouldn't want me scrubbing decks one-handed, would you?"

"Planning to make a hook?"

Jinx's eyes sparkled. "Not a bad idea! I'll make something, promise. And if you like it, maybe I trade up from janitor to inventor?"

Sarah chuckled. "Didn't think you'd be so optimistic. Fine. Whatever junk you clean up, you can keep. But if I catch you making anything suspicious, I swear—"

"You'll feed me to the sea monsters or shoot me dead. Yeah, yeah, Vi's taste in women is so predictable." Jinx rolled her eyes.

Sarah's patience thinned. "Enough. Don't test me, lunatic. Rafen! You've got a recruit under your command. Jinx… Your last name?"

Jinx blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You'll need a last name in Bilgewater. Even the lowest rat in the harbor has one, whether they use it or not. Not having one marks you as an outsider. And outsiders don't last long."

"There are no last names in Zaun. They're for nobles. I'm a commonborn."

Sarah smirked. "Commonborn? Please. You were Vander's daughter first, then Silco's. You're the closest thing Zaun's ever had to a princess. Made-up one!".

Jinx hesitated, then grinned. "Fine. O'Connol. Jinx O'Connol."

Sarah raised a brow. "O'Connol?"

"My birth father, Connol, was just an ordinary man. I want that life from now on."

Sarah leaned back, considering her. "If that's what you want... Jinx O'Connol. Doesn't sound half bad. Welcome aboard!"

Chapter Text

“You’re from Zaun, aren’t you?”

“Who 's asking?”

“Rafen. Your superior. Now, talk, big mouth.”

Jinx scoffed. “Oh, so we’re pulling rank now? I’m Zaunite, born and raised, so you better watch your tone, Rafen. Nobody mess with us. Not that it matters—I doubt my birthplace affects how well I mop.”

“Janna, Goddess of the Wind, is kinder to your people. You will pray to her.”

Jinx rolled her eyes. “I’ve never prayed to her. Not even for my own life. Why the hell would I do it for any of you?”

“You do as you’re told, one-handed princess! I don’t want trouble from you!”

She grinned. “Why, Captain, did you insist on me picking a last name if you’re not even going to use it?”

“Because I wanted to! Now say the damn prayer and get back to work! The sooner you’re done, the sooner you can go back to tinkering with that hand of yours. Quit your yapping.”

Jinx hesitated, feeling the weight of every glare at her. 

Fine. If a stupid prayer was all it took to shut them up… 

She dusted off a few half-forgotten words from her childhood—the ones her parents used to mutter when they still believed gods gave a damn about them. 

“Oh, Janna, spirit of the merciful winds,” she intoned theatrically, “take pity once more on your devoted people of Zaun and protect them in this time of crisis. This merry crew also begs your favor: may the winds be gentle on the high seas, and may they return home soon. Bilgerats are also loyal to you, and they pray for your protection… Happy now? ”

She ended with a dramatic flourish, her glare bouncing between Rafen and Miss Fortune. Her annoyance only grew at the amused smirk playing on Sarah’s lips.

“And you wonder why the gods abandoned you?” The captain chuckled. “You’re a terrible beggar.”

Jinx smirked. “That’s why I never beg, Captain. Not for my life, and definitely not for others.”

“Drag your ass out of my sight! I’m sure there’s a mess for you to mop somewhere.”

“ Gladly .”

When Jinx had finally crawled out of hiding and introduced herself to Miss Fortune, it wasn’t out of desperation. It was out of mercy f or the young captain’s sanity more than her own.

If she’d wanted to, she could’ve stayed hidden for the entire journey. Could’ve stolen what she needed, watched the crew kill each other over her “crimes,” and laughed herself sick in the darkness. But silence and isolation had a funny way of making her more unhinged, so in the end, she decided that the risk of getting shot was a fair trade for a little entertainment.

Now, scrubbing up the puke of some idiot sailor who’d ignored his drinking limit, she regretted it.

Why the hell were all her good deeds punished?

It was always filth, death, or both. Mostly both.

The stench hit her like a punch to the gut, and before she knew it, she was retching over the side of the ship.

'What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m not this weak!'

“You’re here to clean up the mess, not add to it,” Sarah’s voice rang out behind her.

Jinx wiped her mouth, unfazed. “What mess, Captain? The sea took care of it.”

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “You spent days holed up in the shakiest, darkest part of the ship, and you’re just now getting seasick? Should I be worried?”

“If you don’t know, Captain, then I sure as hell don’t.”

“Don’t act clever; it doesn’t suit you. I want you in my office later. And bring whatever updates you’ve got on your hand.”

“My hook ?”

“Whatever! Just make sure it’s not boring.”

Miss Fortune’s office was a clean mess.

Maps, empty bottles, disassembled weapons—it had all the charm of a seasoned pirate who had no time for tidiness. Sarah leaned against her desk, watching as Jinx slung her backpack onto the table with a heavy thud.

With a wicked grin, she pulled out her masterpiece.

“Ta-da!”, she crooned, holding up the device with a lopsided smile.

Sarah raised a brow, unimpressed. “And this is supposed to be…?”

“A teapot? No! My prosthesis, Captain. Don’t you see the style? The flair? The sheer, damn , wit ?”

Sarah examined the contraption, turning it over in her hands. “It’s… curious-looking. I’ll give you that.”

Jinx’s “hook” was anything but conventional.

It had a retractable claw powered by a makeshift spring, clockwork gears for mobility, and a rusty cylinder that looked suspiciously like it came from a flintlock pistol. Uneven welding scars covered its surface, the screws were a mismatched mess, and a pair of metal plates bore knife-carved doodles that almost resembled symbols.

Ever the curious type, Sarah tested the mobility of the mechanical fingers with an unreadable expression.

“Does it work?”

Jinx grinned and lifted her stump, locking the contraption into place. She flexed her new fingers, snapping them shut with a clumsy but satisfying click.

“As good as a dead man’s arm,” she sneered. “It moves and it doesn’t explode. Most of the time. It is my creation, after all.”

Sarah let out a low, thoughtful hum. “Huh.”

The pirate let out a long-suffering sigh, already regretting her decision.

 "You know, you're the worst janitor I’ve ever had."

Jinx smirked, twirling a dirty rag between her fingers. "It's not my fault your crew drinks like they're racing to meet the reaper."

Sarah ignored the jab. "It’s not just that. You’re supposed to work, shut up, and follow orders. Instead, you argue, provoke, and somehow still don’t get the damn job done.”

Jinx clicked her tongue, bracing herself for another lecture. But what came next threw her off.

“So, I have a better offer for you.”

She tilted her head, frowning. "Don’t tell me you want me to be your apprentice or something. The last person who tried ended up… well, you already know. Not even all the luck in your pretty name would save you."

Sarah chuckled, but her gaze remained cold and calculating. That unsettled Jinx more than any threat.

“No need to worry; this isn’t some sentimental arrangement. From now on, you're in charge of maintaining and improving the crew’s equipment and weapons. I want an edge in every fight."

Jinx narrowed her eyes. "You're telling me I get to tinker with guns instead of mopping puke? What’s the catch?”.

"That and more," Sarah said smoothly, leaning in. "You'll also be my eyes and ears on this ship. I want to know who's stealing, who's lying, and who’s plotting against me. Pirates are treacherous rats—loyalty’s a rare commodity."

Jinx went silent, her mind whirring. She wasn’t stupid. This wasn’t a promotion—it was a leash. A gilded collar disguised as a gift. Why else would Miss Fortune be so generous?

"Let me guess… If I say no, do I go back to cleaning up vomit?"

Sarah grinned. "No. If you say no, I throw you overboard. I don’t keep dead weight around."

Jinx barked out a laugh. "At last! An honest negotiation."

She extended her mechanical hand. The joints groaned in protest, metal creaking. "Deal, Captain."

Sarah clasped it, twisting it in her grip before letting go with a thud.

"Now, Jinx," she said, her voice casual—too casual. "Earlier, you said the gods abandoned you. What did you mean?"

Jinx shrugged, trying to seem unbothered. "Oh, that? Isn’t my luck proof enough? You already survived a hellish storm with me onboard."

Sarah didn’t blink. "Bad luck?"

"I thought my name was self-explanatory. Yes, I'm rotten to the core with bad luck. Why would any god give a damn about someone like me? Maybe I’m their joke!" Her voice dripped mockery, but her free hand clenched the table, white-knuckled.

Memories scraped at the edges of her mind—prayers whispered in the filth of Stillwater; her own voice raw with desperation.

"Give her back. Give her back. Mercy, I’ll do anything…"

But the gods never listened. Not when it mattered. Not when she talked to them…

Sarah didn’t push. She nodded, though her eyes said she didn’t fully buy Jinx’s act. She was here to unravel her, not crack her open all at once…

"One more thing," Sarah said, her voice smooth but edged with curiosity. "How the hell did you survive? The explosion was a spectacle. People bet money on you turning to dust."

Jinx let out a wild cackle. "Oh, I thought I’d die too! Would’ve been a hell of an exit, right? But no, somehow, I crawled out. Had to leave a little souvenir behind, though—" She wiggled her mechanical fingers. "My hand paid the price. Fitting, huh? Proof I really did go out with a bang."

Sarah’s gaze sharpened, fingers tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm against the table. Jinx could feel the question forming before the words left her mouth.

"And then?"

"Then I patched myself up and left. Quietly."

The silence stretched. Jinx could almost hear the gears turning in the captain’s head.

"Fine," Sarah finally said. "But there’s something I don’t get."

Jinx groaned, rolling her eyes. "Oh, please. Don’t tell me this is the classic ‘Why run when your precious sister was in town?’ speech. Your rats already spilled how you know each other."

She folded her arms with exaggerated mock surprise when Sarah gave a small nod.

"Gods! Captain Fortune still hung up on Vi? How scandalous!" Jinx’s grin stretched wide, wicked, and taunting. “Don’t tell me you still dream about her, Captain…”

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Your little spies don’t know she’s my sister, so they had a grand time traumatizing me with all the sordid details of your little affair." Her smirk deepened. "Who trades a pirate for an enforcer? And they dare call me the crazy sister..."

Sarah’s expression remained unreadable, but Jinx caught the flicker in her eyes. That small shift—barely there but telling. Jealousy .

"So, it was because of Kiramman?" the captain pressed.

Jinx shrugged. "Call it self-preservation. Resignation. Flipping a coin."

Sarah narrowed her eyes. "You're a terrible liar."

"I know. That’s why I kept saying nonsense. The truth is too boring. Now, Captain, are we going to keep digging through my tragedies, or do you have something interesting to ask?"

"One last thing, Jinx. Try to give a straight answer for once."

Jinx caught the shift in Sarah's tone—casual, but too damn deliberate. It sent a prickle of unease down her spine. What game was she playing now? Why has she seemed so unbothered?

"What?"

"That nausea. You don’t strike me as the seasick type."

Jinx's grin twitched.

"So what?"

Sarah tilted her head, watching her like a cat sizing up a trapped bird. "It could be something. Or someone ."

The air turned heavy. Stifling.

Jinx stared at her, then barked out a laugh, sharp and too loud. "Oh, for the love of Zaun! Are you seriously implying I’m knocked up?"

Sarah didn’t hesitate. "I’m asking if it’s possible. If it is, I just want to know. That’s all."

Jinx’s smile hung there, frozen in place. Just for a second. A flicker of something raw in her eyes—gone before it could settle.

Then she scoffed. "No. No way."

Too fast. Too forced. Sarah caught it.

"Are you sure?"

Jinx shot up to her feet, grin widening, stretching. Too big, too bright. A mask . "Unless gunpowder and bad decisions can get you pregnant, or the gods decided to pull some immaculate-conception bullshit, I think I’m in the clear. Kids are blessings, Captain. I’m a walking curse. If anything’s growing in me, it’s a tumor."

Sarah studied her for a beat longer. Then she smirked. Shrugged. "Good. At least those kinds of lies don’t last forever. You can go, Jinx."

Jinx mock-saluted her with her mechanical claw and all but bolted out of the office.

Her stomach twisted.

It wasn’t true.

And they both knew it…

Chapter Text

“How’d you figure that crazy Zaunite brat was such a damn good inventor?”

“She told me, and I gave her a shot. She proved it. I’m guessing she was the wicked mind behind those guns Silco promised me.”

“Still… Do you really think you can trust her? She’s an outsider—and out of her mind. She didn’t deserve that promotion.”

“No one on my crew is mediocre, Sandy. If I hire a janitor, they’d better be the best damn janitor in the world. If I hire an inventor, it’s because they’re worth keeping. Besides, a promotion means a raise, and she didn’t even ask for it. She works, she innovates, and she clears her daddy’s debt to me. Everyone wins.”

“My point stands, Captain. What if she builds something that kills us all in our sleep?”

“You don’t trust her. Fair enough. But if Jinx is here, it’s because I trust her. Or do you not trust your captain either, Sandy?”

“I—I would never question you, Captain Fortune!”

“That’s what I thought. Doubt's fine—keeps you sharp. But back it up with something solid. If she gives you trouble, bring it to me. I’ll handle it. When have I ever let you down?”

“Never… I’m sorry. It’s just—that lunatic brat gets under my skin. Under everyone’s.”

It wasn’t the first complaint Fortune had gotten about her eccentric recruit. She hadn’t been lying when she warned Jinx that Bilgewater didn’t take kindly to outsiders.

In a city where survival meant choosing between predator or prey, trust was a luxury few could afford. 

If it was hard enough to trust your own kind, trusting a stranger was damn near suicidal. And yet, that was where she held the edge over the other captains vying for her throne. No matter how things played out in Bilgewater, there was only one Pirate Queen the foreign sailors recognized: Miss Sarah Fortune, the infamous captain of The Syren.

She wasn’t just another cutthroat scheming for power—she was the one they could trade with, the one who made them feel like they weren’t walking straight into a trap... even if they were. And that approach toward others ensured her crew’s loyalty better than mere fear ever could.

Pirates were never upright folk, so it was no surprise they faltered from time to time, but none had ever dared outright treason. They knew damn well they were lucky to have a leader as reckless and bloodthirsty as she was fair and compassionate to those who came to her in need. That openness had its drawbacks. Jinx's presence was proof of that. But they wouldn't trade it for anything. Even the greediest bastard in Bilgewater could see that Sarah Fortune was worth more than the purest gold…

“Just tell your inventor to respect ranks and keep her mess to herself. And let others clean up after her, especially given her morning sickness. You’d think, coming from a place as rotten as Zaun, she’d have a stronger stomach. But no—her retching wakes everyone.”

“That’s what worries me. Has anyone else been sick, Sandy, darling? I’d rather rule out food poisoning before considering... other concerns about Jinx. Or, well, more serious ones. Hope I’m making myself clear…”

“Considering how she clings to a jacket that’s too damn big to be hers at night? I’d assume the worst, Captain. What’ll you do if it is? No one would blame you for leaving it forgotten at our next stop before Bilgewater. You don’t need foreign mouths to feed.”

“That’s my business, Sandy. Now get back to work.”

‘So, there was a man in her life.’

The thought came fast, but she felt ridiculous for assuming. For all she knew, the jacket could’ve been Vi’s. Jinx was so damn small that anything remotely normal-sized would swallow her whole. Or maybe it was Silco’s…

If the girl had been both his daughter and his executioner, she would’ve had the chance to take his clothes before skipping town. Sarah knew what it was like to cling to scraps of the past—she still slept in her mother’s nightgown occasionally. 

Maybe Jinx did the same, curling up in something that smelled like the man who’d raised her and loved her to find some comfort. No matter how twisted that love had been.

‘Could be a boy instead of a man,’ she wondered. ‘How old is she?’

Younger than Vi, for sure. And Vi was a few years younger than she was. But Vi had talked about Powder like she was some tiny, helpless thing, so Sarah had figured there had to be at least ten years between them. Now, she wasn’t so sure…

The real question was: what was worse? Was that Jinx older than she looked and just another Zaunite stunted by hunger? Or that she really was that young and still had all that blood and grief weighing her down?

‘No wonder why she thinks she’s a jinx…’

Sarah felt the sting of sympathy creeping in and did her best to shove it aside.

She wasn’t the type to put stock in gods or spirits—unlike her crew, who clung to their superstitions like lifeboats in a storm. But even she had to admit, ever since Jinx had whispered that desperate little prayer to Janna, the sea had stilled, the winds had turned, and the ship had sliced through the waves like it did in her golden days.

That didn’t track with a girl abandoned by the gods. If anything, it fits a hell of a lot more with what those blue-haired zealots in Zaun had been whispering for months—that Jinx had been sent by Janna herself to set them free.

Sarah wasn’t one for fairytales of salvation. But she wasn’t one for nonsense either. Jinx wasn’t some divine reckoning, nor was she a walking curse. No, the girl was a casualty—another name on the ever-growing list of people chewed up and spit out by a world that didn’t give a damn.

Still, it was clear as day: whatever she was carrying, it ran deep. The whole bad omen act wasn’t for show. She truly believed it. And that? That was the real tragedy…

‘I am Sarah Fortune, fortune for the bold, a curse to my enemies.’

And fortunately for Jinx, she was part of her crew now. Maybe—just maybe—the same fortune that trailed Sarah like a shadow could be of use to the girl if luck truly existed. The thought settled in her chest like an anchor, oddly reassuring.

Besides, maybe she could use a friend in the Syren. Both could.

Was it sympathy for the girl? Or were her feelings about Vi acting up through Jinx? Hell, if she only knew…

But it didn’t matter. The Vi she knew—the Vi she loved—would’ve bled herself dry if it meant her sister got to live in peace. And if Sarah could nudge things in that direction, even just a little, she would. She owed her that much…

In the end, Jinx and Miss Fortune weren’t so different. Both had ghosts trailing their footsteps. Both had debts they could never pay. And both owed Vi the attempt to be better. To right the wrongs of their pasts in that life, whether she got to know or not…

(…)

The change in position suited Jinx. 

Not that she’d ever admit it. Complaining was a sport, and she was its undefeated champion. But if she was being honest—and she rarely was—tinkering on The Syren was kind of fun.

It meant a challenge. An engineering nightmare twisted enough to keep her entertained. Her materials? Pirate garbage and the occasional stolen gun part. Half the work was improvisation, half was madness, and the remaining half—

 ‘That was too many halves…’

Whatever.

It kept her hands busy. Kept her mind busy. Kept her busy. And that’s what mattered.

Once her guts stopped trying to escape through her mouth, the ocean air wasn’t awful, either. Too clean, almost fake. It made her realize just how used she’d been to choking on smoke, smog, and regret. These days, she only choked when her thoughts turned ugly in the dead of night. That had to be an upgrade, right?

She crunched down on a piece of ice—her latest trick to keep from hurling every time she ate. Between bites, she turned over an old problem in her mind: how to improve her prosthetic without cutting off more of herself?

Miss Fortune had been charmed by her hook, but Jinx knew better. It was amateur work. A sad little scrap job. Nothing like the things she used to make, even before she started playing with hex gems like an absolute dumbass…

"Yeah, never messing with magic again. Science rules. Science… or whatever it is I’m doing here."

She scoffed—then scowled, as her mind dragged her back to the worst of it.

Vi, taking the bait. Little Man, running his mouth. Jayce Talis, the Man of Progress.

That was the moment it all went to hell.

Jinx cursed the day Vi listened to Ekko’s little dig. Cursed the hour they broke into Talis’s apartment. Cursed—

…Ekko.

She exhaled sharply, shoving him out of her mind.

The Boy Savior. The one who bent time itself to save her. Or maybe she just thought he had.

Before he caught her—before he wrapped his arms around her like he still believed in her—she could’ve sworn she’d died. Twice. Maybe three times. And even if he’d stopped her from blowing herself sky-high, in the end…

He couldn’t save her from herself. No one could.

‘Ekko… What are you doing now?’

 "I hope no one told you there’s a limit on food. I run a tight ship, not a cruel one."

"Relax, Captain. Even if food was rationed, we know I could swipe whatever I wanted, and no one would be wiser. Don’t you knock on Bilgewater?"

“Not when you own the ship. But if you’re hungry, ice won’t cut it. I didn’t see you at mealtime. Something wrong? Work can wait."

"Back for another round of questioning? At least tell me this one’s about my job…"

“Something like that. If I’m going to pass you off as a Bilgewater citizen, I need a good lie—papers that hold up. When’s your birthday?"

"Don’t know. Doesn’t matter."

"Not even the year?"

“Pick an age; I won’t be pissed if you make me older.”

"That’s the problem. If I had to guess, I would say you’re a teenager. And that would make things... messy. Why so cagey, Jinx?"

"Same reason you’re so nosy, Captain—because I can. Because I want to! I’m trying to help—or at least I think I am. Isn’t that enough? You’ve got your weapons. What else do you want? A sob story to pass the time?"

"I... I'm sorry. I didn’t see it that way. I’m just naturally curious…"

"In that, we’re alike. But unlike you, if I talk too much, say too little, or the wrong thing... POW!" She mimicked a gunshot to her temple. "Not exactly fair, is it?"

"No, it isn’t," she admitted, exhaling before adding, "So, let’s make it fair. You can ask me questions too. If I don’t want to answer, you’ll respect it. And I promise to do the same if I cross a line."

"Bold of you to assume I give a damn about your life."

"Oh, come on, kiddo! You wouldn’t have called our little dynamic unfair if you weren’t at least a little curious. I’m a fantastic gossip, I promise. I owe you four questions…".

"Fine, fine. We’ll play your game. But if I get bored, we’re done. Deal?"

"Deal. Ask away."

"How did you know my name? The old one. I have my guess, but I want to hear it."

"Vi, of course. Once I was in her good graces, she wouldn’t shut up about you. She was sure Silco had killed you, but part of her refused to believe it. Said you used to make explosive toys. And after seeing your recent work, I knew you weren’t lying about being a tinker. I don’t have siblings, so I don’t know that kind of love. But the way she talked about you? I started worrying about you, too. Love spreads faster than cholera. And I never forgot her… or you."

"That love and concern wasn’t enough for you to look for me when you left Stillwater? You left before Vi. You could have looked for me like she wanted to."

"Vi never got the chance to ask me for that. We didn’t say goodbye."

"How come? Weren’t you prison girlfriends?"

"Prison girlfriends?" Sarah chuckled. "No. And when I left, it wasn’t planned. They took me out one night—no warning, no time to bring anyone, no goodbyes. The price of my freedom was never stepping foot in Piltover again."

"So, you abandoned her."

"Didn’t have a choice. But… yeah."

"Wow. Vi sure knows how to pick them."

"You abandoned her too. I don’t doubt you had your reasons, but you still did it."

 "Like you said, you don’t understand sisters. It’s different."

Sarah raised an eyebrow, reaching for a jacket draped over the back of Jinx’s chair. It was too big for her, covered in paint scribbles like the rest of her clothes—but less so.

Jinx’s reaction was instant. 

She snatched a gun, leveling it at Sarah without hesitation.

"Put. It. Down."

The pirate complied, lifting her hands in mock surrender, but she’d already seen enough. 

She could bet everything she owned that the jacket had been worn by a lover…

"Judging by that reaction…" She tilted her head. "I’d say you do understand what it’s like to leave a lover behind. Or maybe I’m wrong, and it’s not from a lover. But I highly doubt it’s Silco’s. He wore your scribbles proudly—just not on his clothes."

"Nah. He lived like a miser and only had one coat. I ‘buried’ him in the lake with it. Too big for him. Made him look like a damn scarecrow. But in my head, it was… so the cold water wouldn’t be too cold. Stupid."

"Not stupid. Sweet."

She paused before lifting the jacket again, running her fingers over the fabric. "So… can I at least get a name?"

Jinx contemplated it in her mind. If there was anyone  she could tell something to without too much risk, it was Sarah Fortune. 

Jinx hesitated. If there was anyone she could throw off with a half-truth, it was Sarah Fortune. They had nothing in common except Vi and Silco. No stakes. No risks.

"He’s an owl."

"An owl?" Sarah smirked. "At least tell me he’s hot."

"Pfft. I thought you were a lesbian."

The pirate threw her head back, laughing, and Jinx snorted.

 "You messed around with my sister. What else was I supposed to think?"

“For the record—" She wiped a tear of laughter from her eye. "I’m bi, Jinx."

"That has a name?"

Her tone wasn’t mocking. Just genuinely curious. It caught Sarah off guard.

 "Everything has a name, bluebird. No one ever taught you that?"

"You already know the answer. Now you owe me two more questions."

 "Make it three. Does your ‘owl’ know you faked your death, or is he grieving?"

"I don’t know if he’s mourning, but he thinks I’m dead. The best way to keep a secret is not to tell it. My turn—did you ever think about looking for Vi?"

"No." She leaned back. "When I got back to Piltover, I heard the rumors. Vi and the Kiramman heiress. It had been almost three years—love dies when you let it rot in the distance."

Jinx stiffened. Not a single tear, but her eyes gleamed with something raw. Something wounded. Sarah cursed herself. 

‘Shit. Hit a nerve…’.

"At least, in relationships like ours," she added quickly, trying to smooth it over. "Besides, I also threw my lot in with the man she hated most. Even if I had wanted to go back to her, I burned that bridge."

"No use now, but… My sister forgives almost anything. Sooner or later."

Sarah studied her lips, quivering in a sad smile.

 "Good to know."

There was a pause. Jinx twirled a bullet between her fingers, feigning disinterest, though her mind was already scheming the next question.

"And what do you plan to do with the guns?"

Sarah smirked, tilting her head ever so slightly. "You tell me, Jinx. What are guns for?"

"To go boom-pow." Jinx rolled her eyes. "The real question is… why do you need them?"

Sarah studied her carefully, weighing just how much truth she could afford to spill.

"For years, all I cared about was revenge," she admitted. "Gangplank killed my family. Ordered our house burned to the ground with us inside because my mother, Abigale Fortune, refused to give him free guns."

Jinx let out a whistle. "And he couldn’t just steal them like a proper pirate?"

Sarah chuckled dryly. "Oh, he wanted more than that. He wanted her, too. Mom was a mad genius—like you. She didn’t just build weapons. She perfected them. They were art."

Jinx arched an eyebrow. "Wow. Mad genius. Flattering."

"I'm not saying it to be cute," Sarah replied smoothly. "I'm saying it because I recognize a game-changer when I see one. And because I’m not going to use you the way he intended to use her."

Jinx fell quiet for a moment, tapping the bullet against the table. "And now? Is it still just revenge?"

Sarah exhaled, her confidence unwavering. "Now, it’s for Bilgewater. I’m not the nicest person, but at least I’m trying to make things fair. Let the sunshine on everyone along the coast—not just the bullies."

Jinx didn't answer right away. It wasn’t that she believed in speeches like that… but it didn’t sound like a lie either. It reminded her of Vander and Silco; their best life in Zaun could have been better if they had just found a way to make peace.

"Meh. Okay, I guess I believe you." She gave the bullet one last spin before tossing it into the air and catching it with a flick of her wrist. "By the way, your guns? Not bad. Gold. Flashy. I like it."

Sarah lifted an eyebrow. "Uh… thanks?"

"I mean, they’re not my kind of toys, but for something made by someone sane like you?" Jinx grinned. "They're a deadly work of art."

Sarah’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile—but almost. "A madwoman made them. My mother. They're the only ones that survived."

Jinx only nodded. Made sense. And for the record, she had meant her compliments.

A long pause stretched between them as Jinx worked up the courage to ask her next question. Her eyes darkened, something wicked and knowing flashing beneath her playful expression. Sarah met her gaze and, instinctively, braced herself. 

Whatever was coming next was bound to be trouble…

“That song you sing at night—where’d you learn it?”

Sarah blinked, caught off guard. She hadn’t expected that.

“Have you been listening to me?”

“How could I not? You’re louder than the damn waves. I bet even the fish are weeping.”

Sarah chuckled, shaking her head. “It was my parents’ song. ‘Our Love.’ That’s how. Still my favorite, even after all these years.” Her voice dipped into something wistful, barely there.

Jinx twirled a bullet between her fingers, eyes narrowing. “No shit. That old record was my favorite on the jukebox at The Last Drop when I was a kid. Almost made me believe in love like that—timeless, pure.” She scoffed. “Almost.”

Sarah didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Your voice is beautiful, by the way,” Jinx blurted out. “Used to lull me to sleep when I was still a stowaway.”

Sarah arched a brow, caught off guard. “That’s the weirdest compliment I’ve ever received.”

“Well, at least it was a compliment and not a complaint about the noise. I could've lied and said you sound like a strangled cat.”

Sarah snorted. “I guess I’ll take it.”

Jinx smirked, pleased. “The Syren takes its name after your pretty voice?”

“No. Stole the ship years ago. Probably got named that because mermaids, despite being pretty, scare the hell out of pirates. Lure them into the water, then eat them whole.”

Jinx hummed. “Suits you. Pretty, but dangerous.”

“That’s a compliment! Look at you, being nice. Wouldn't it kill you to do it more often, would it?”

Jinx just shook her head in amusement. Silence settled between them, easy but fleeting. Then, as if struck by a thought, she snapped her fingers.

“When’s your birthday, Captain?”

Sarah blinked. “What?”

“If I’m telling you mine, I want to know yours too. Fairness, remember? It’s not fair if only one of us knows when to bake a cake.”

Sarah chuckled, shaking her head. “Fair enough.”

'Eighteen. She's only eighteen, going on nineteen soon.' 

The realization sat heavy in Sarah's gut…

She wasn’t much older when she took Bilgewater for herself, but still—Jinx was a kid. 

A deranged, unpredictable arsonist kid. And now, she was Sarah’s responsibility, whether she liked it or not. 

Not that anyone else but her would care. Bilgewater sure as hell wouldn’t…

No, back home, being young wasn’t a shield—it was a weakness. 

The smaller you were, the easier you were to crush. She’d learned that the hard way, watching people who should’ve protected her turn into the monsters she had to kill.

And she did. When the time came, she made them bleed. Revenge got her some of the peace Gangplank burned away with that fire.

 But even now, at twenty-seven, she wondered—if she had met a captain like herself back then, would she still be so screwed up? Or her life would be brighter somehow?

She had every right to be indifferent. 

Jinx was a stranger. A liability. A walking explosion with a smirk…

But maybe, just maybe, kindness was the rarest treasure of all. 

And maybe, just maybe, a little of it could go a long way with her…

Chapter Text

Sarah pretended not to notice when Jinx slipped into her room, a ghost against the dark. The bed dipped as she curled up on the far edge, wound tight like a secret she had no intention of sharing.

Her breathing— shaky, uneven —betrayed her.

She’d been crying. Not long ago.

‘Vi used to cry like that. Silent. Small.’

Sarah could’ve reached out, could’ve reeled her in with something careless but warm. But she didn’t. 

She flexed her fingers, forcing herself to stay still.

If Jinx had wanted comfort, she would’ve taken it—shaken Sarah awake, demanded it like a brat too used to getting her way. 

That was Silco’s doing. He’d taught her to take instead of asking, for better or worse.

And unlike Vi, Sarah doubted Jinx was secretly hoping someone would pull her close and tell her she wasn’t alone…

So, she played along, let the silence stretch, pretending she hadn’t noticed a thing.

She’d ask in the morning, all easy charm and sharp curiosity, like she hadn’t spent half the night listening to Jinx fall apart. 

Eventually, her body caught up with the act, dragging her into a deep, dreamless sleep.

But when she woke, Jinx was gone…

(…)

"Calm down, Loose Cannon! The food isn’t going to sprout legs and run off if you don’t inhale it in three seconds. Don’t come whining about nausea later."

The only thing keeping Isobel from getting a bullet between the eyes was her rank… and the fact that, so far, she was the only one of Sarah’s senior officers who hadn’t treated Jinx like a rabid dog. The albino was the Infantry Chief, a cannon specialist, which probably explained why she hadn’t looked at Jinx’s explosives like they were some unholy abominations. 

"Though I must say, at least now you’re eating without looking like someone’s forcing poison down your throat. You’re so scrawny!" Isobel teased with a chuckle.

Jinx was weirdly grateful for that, too. One more dry heave, and she might’ve just disappeared into thin air.

"I've gotten used to your bland slope, I guess. Back in Zaun, half the meat was already rotting, and the seasonings were the only thing keeping people from noticing. I used to gag at it, but now…" She trailed off, lost in thought.

Funny . She had always been the pickiest eater of the four whenever Vander took them out. Yet now, for the first time, she craved Zaun’s street food—the kind Vi used to shovel into her mouth without hesitation, no matter how gelatinous, slimy, or suspiciously glowing.

Jinx had always hated it. So why was she salivating just thinking about it? 

‘ How odd…’

"I suppose you do it that way because of allergies, right?" she asked, eyeing her plate with renewed suspicion. The nausea crept back, but she shoved it down.

"Probably. The cook must make something that works for everyone. Everyone here does their job as best they can for everyone else."

Jinx snorted. "That sounds a bit too kind for a pirate ship."

"You’d be surprised," Isobel smirked. "Being in the same boat brings out the best or the worst in people."

Jinx grinned, slow and sharp, drumming her fingers against the tabletop. "Oh, I know all about that."

She leaned back, tilting her head as if watching ghosts play in the air. "Brings out the best or the worst… if the captain’s still breathing. But the second the fish’s head rots? Everyone suddenly forgets they’re on the same damn boat. Turns into a pack of starving hyenas, tearing each other apart for a taste of leadership—doesn’t even matter if they burn the whole ship down with themselves inside. Seen it before."

Her grin stretched wider, but her eyes darkened. "Hell, Silco’s body was still warm when they started gnawing at his throne. ‘Liberty,’ ‘Equality,’ ‘Fraternity,’ blah, blah, blah… The second he fell, it all went to shit. And the worst part? Somehow, despite being the reason half of Zaun’s problems existed in the first place, everything—not just my life—was a thousand times worse without him."

Jinx slammed her head down on the table and snorted.

"Guess I should be grateful that Captain Fortune is healthy and so nice to me because if it were up to most of you— especially Rafael and Sandy —I’d be fish food by now."

"You mean Rafen . And don’t take it personally," Isobel corrected. "As Sarah’s right-hand man and second-in-command, he takes his role way too seriously. It’s not about you. Give it time; he’ll get over it. And Sandy… well, she’s wary of Sarah."

"Are they a couple?" Jinx asked, suddenly feeling a little guilty for sleeping with her.

"No. But she’s possessive of anyone she deems valuable. Jealous of their attention."

Jinx snorted. "With how outgoing Sarah is, that must be hellish."

"Sarah saved a lot of people here. Including me," Isobel admitted. "Hard not to love her for it."

Jinx mulled over those words as she finished her day’s tasks. 

The thought clawed at her, worming its way into the rotten corners of her mind. How dangerous was it to find comfort in someone whose way of making allies was pulling them out of the wreckage of their past lives? Favors felt a lot like chains. The last time she’d let someone patch her up and keep her safe, it had only made everything worse…

On the Syren, adrift in an ocean too big, too endless, Sarah Fortune was like the sun—blinding, inescapable, her gravity pulling everything and everyone into orbit.

Was this her new life? Had she really burned every bridge—every person she’d ever loved—just to be another cog in some pirate queen’s never-ending war machine?

Even if the fight was fair, even if Sarah was one of the kindest people she’d ever met in her low life, Jinx was tired. Tired of battles that never ended, of violence that never gave back. But what choice did she have? Trapped in the middle of nowhere, she could only play along, obey the captain, and hope for the best.

"Jinx, I think you should rest," Isobel suggested, eyes narrowing at her. 

Despite being in the coolest part of the ship and far from anything flammable, the girl was drenched in sweat, her breathing uneven.

Jinx ignored her. Or tried to . 

But suddenly, her vision blurred. Her grip slipped. The sharp edge of her instrument bit into her skin, a thin line of red blooming across her fingers. It was barely a scratch, nothing compared to what she’d seen, what she’d survived. But those few drops of blood, stark against the workbench, felt like a wound splitting open somewhere deeper, somewhere she couldn't reach. 

Her world tilted…

She hit the ground before she even realized she was falling…

"Somebody get help!" Isobel yelled, her voice cutting through the heavy sea air as Jinx lay pale and motionless on the floor.

(…)

"Always so bitter, Rafen."

"And you're always too damn soft for your own good. Jinx is a walking catastrophe."

"So?" Sarah arched a brow, unbothered. "That ‘catastrophe’ saved an entire city. Freed her people. And now she’s stuck dealing with the wreckage in her own head. I’m not about to sit here and act like I was any better at her age. If Jinx hadn’t done what she did, there’d be a graveyard where there’s now a city standing on its own feet. You call her crazy— I call her brave . And I don’t throw the brave away, Rafen."

Rafen scoffed, arms crossed, gaze sharp. "Well, Sarah, you can’t have everything. You’re either a good person or a good captain. And right now, your people don’t trust her. Neither does your second-in-command. If that loose cannon decides to turn on you, it won’t just be your problem—it’ll be everyone’s. Weakness here gets you a knife in the ribs, and your luck is our luck. Keep that in mind before making reckless choices."

Sarah smirked. "You made her pray to Janna, and since then, the storms have left us alone."

"Since when do you believe in any of that crap?"

"I don’t." She leaned forward, eyes gleaming. "But most people here do. And if Janna favors her, wouldn’t tossing her overboard be the same as tying a noose around our necks? Even hatred must make sense, Rafen."

Rafen exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Fine. But if you’re going to keep her around, at least tell her to be less of a damn nuisance. She woke up half the crew last night screaming".

That got Sarah’s attention. "Screaming what?" she asked before she could think better of it.

Rafen gave her a look. "Tell me I don’t need to worry about your feelings for that lunatic."

‘ More likely for her sister, ’ she thought bitterly, then shook it off. "She’s not a woman; she’s an eighteen-year-old girl. And no. I’m just curious."

Rafen sighed. "I caught ‘Isha’ in there somewhere. Does it mean anything to you?"

Sarah frowned, remembering the way Jinx had looked that night—small, broken, crying over a name that meant nothing to her.

"No," she admitted, frustration simmering under her skin. Then her lips curled into something sharp. "But it will. I always figure things out, don’t I?"

Rafen decided to drop the topic for now. It was clear Sarah was too invested in that Zaunite girl and her mystery to think clearly. Her captain was stubborn, like any pirate.

As soon as she lost interest, he'd take care of Jinx himself...

Before the tension could settle, the door burst open.

"Sarah, there's been an incident. Korrigan wants to talk to you," Isobel announced, slamming the door behind her, clearly distressed.

Sarah let out an exaggerated sigh. "Izzy, baby, we’ve been over this: if I make a rule, it’s for everyone. Knock."

Despite her urgency, Isobel rolled her eyes and, with theatrical obedience, knocked before stepping back in.

"Captain Fortune, oh great Lady, your crazy inventor fainted out of nowhere."

"WHAT?!"

"It can’t be that serious," Rafen cut in, ever the pragmatist. "Not our business, but Korrigan’s. And in any case, yours. If it happened while I was working, you’re responsible."

"I know, and I did take her to Korrigan, but he asked me to call the captain urgently. Bye!"

"That Korrigan! We have a doctor on board precisely to deal with the sick, not to make you call at the drop of a hat for things you can’t handle."

"I asked him to do it, Rafen," Sarah interrupted, already on her feet. There was an edge to her voice—worry, barely masked.

She left without another word, striding toward the small area designated as Korrigan's clinic, her gut coiling tight.

In Zaun, everyone was sick. Some made it to old age, held together by nothing but sheer spite and half-rotten lungs. Others weren’t so lucky: with tumors eating them from the inside out, bodies betraying them young went straight from cradle to the grave. She didn’t understand it all, but she knew one thing: Jinx had better be okay .

Whatever the girl had, it had to be treatable.

Sarah had too much blood on her hands already; she didn’t want hers as well.

"Dr. Korrigan, you called for me?" Sarah asked, her curiosity barely restrained. She tried to peek behind the curtain, catching the silhouette of someone sprawled on the examination table. Before she could get a better look, Korrigan stepped in her way.

"Yes. Come on." He surprised her by grabbing her arm and leading her past the exam room into his cramped office, separated by a flimsy door.

They’d known each other since their teens, yet Izan Korrigan— doctor in every sense but the title —insisted on calling her formally, even when no one else was around. And despite being his captain, Miss Fortune always returned the favor.

He sat down with a weary sigh. "First things first—can you confirm the patient’s age? I tried questioning her, but her answers were… unusual."

"Nonsense?"

"More like deliberate tests of patience. It's common among troubled kids and teens—pushing boundaries, seeing how far they can go. Like dipping a toe into unknown waters." He exhaled sharply. "But please, tell me she's not a teenager."

"Legally? She’s an adult. Eighteen." Sarah folded her arms. "Why? You look worried. And of all the people on this ship, you’re the one who terrifies me the most when you’re like this. Doctors’ fear is contagious."

Korrigan didn’t waste time sugarcoating. "I have reason to suspect Jinx is pregnant."

The words landed like a punch. Sarah felt the color drain from her face.

"Oh, for the love of—don’t you start!" Korrigan huffed, already reaching for an alcohol swab, shoving it under her nose before she could collapse and join his list of patients.

Sarah batted his hand away, composing herself. "And what’s stopping you from making a diagnosis?"

"She denied being sexually active. Unless we believe in divine intervention, that would make pregnancy... difficult."

Sarah’s brow arched. "You don’t buy it."

Korrigan hesitated, then admitted, "When she woke up, she mistook me for someone named Ekko. I don’t know who he is, but from the way she said his name, the softness in her voice— then the disappointment when she realized I wasn’t him —" he trailed off. "If I had to guess, he’s the father. Or at least, I’d like to think so."

Something in his tone darkened. It took Sarah a second to realize why.

Her stomach twisted. "You’re considering… alternatives."

He nodded grimly. "Nothing is impossible. Zaun isn’t exactly safe, and Jinx wasn't living on the safe side of life back then. But I can't confirm anything yet. I can’t diagnose pregnancy in someone who swears she’s a virgin, claims to have had a perfect cycle all her life despite malnutrition, and refuses a physical exam. We don’t have pregnancy tests here, so I can’t trick you into taking one, either. And that’s where you come in."

Sarah exhaled. "What do you need?"

"You’re the captain—and the most persuasive person on this ship. Talk to her. Convince her to let me examine her. Or…" He met her gaze, unwavering. "Give the order."

Sarah stiffened. Korrigan didn’t make demands lightly.

"If I do examine her," he continued, "I need a woman present. That means you. It’s vital to determine how far along she is and, more importantly, the circumstances of this pregnancy. There are… protocols for different scenarios."

Her stomach twisted again. "You think—"

"I don’t know. That’s the problem." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I tried asking her outright. She attempted to stab me with her hook. Maybe she trusts you more…"

Sarah leaned back, rubbing her temples. "Damn it. You’d think the hard part of being a pirate would be the piracy."

Korrigan allowed himself the ghost of a smirk. "So? May I count on you?"

She exhaled sharply. "What can we do about the anemia?"

"It won’t go away completely—it’s common in pregnancy—but a diet change will help. More meat, more greens. Cooking with iron ingots. If she wants to keep it, she’ll need extra nutrients. But first, we need confirmation."

Sarah stared at the floor for a beat before nodding. "Fine. Make a list. One for if she keeps it, one for if she doesn’t. We’ll make another stop before Bilgewater to get everything."

She turned to leave, then hesitated.

"I won’t promise a miracle. But I’ll try."

Korrigan’s expression softened just a little. "You underestimate yourself. There’s nothing you can’t do when you set your mind to it."

"Flattery doesn’t suit you, doc." She smirked over her shoulder. "But I’ll take it."

Taking a steady breath, Sarah pushed open the clinic door, forcing herself to step inside. The moment she did, she nearly burst out laughing. Jinx—more awake than ever—was busy trying to jimmy the lock with her hook, utterly failing at it.

"You have to wait until you're discharged. And for that, Izan needs to check you out. How’s the hand? I heard you cut your palm when you passed out. You’ve already lost one; you can’t afford to lose the other."

With a sardonic, cheeky laugh, Jinx collapsed back onto the stretcher with her arms folded after realizing she had no way out.

"You’re the boss, Captain. Tell him to let me go, and I swear I won’t die on your ship again. At least not for the rest of the day."

"I am the boss. And if I’ve learned anything, it’s that without your health, you’ve got nothing else. Korrigan says you’re not fine…"

"Your little doctor’s a drama queen. In Zaun, people faint all the time. Not a big deal. We get up, shake it off, and keep screwing around like always. I’m fine, Captain."

"As far as I know, people from Zaun are still people. Just because you’re used to being sick doesn’t mean it’s normal," Sarah countered smoothly before adding, "Besides, he’s not the only one worried—"

"I don’t give a damn what that nosy doctor thinks. And don’t get me started on Isobel!" Jinx huffed. "I passed out from exhaustion, so what? The solution’s a nap, not a medical crisis."

"Well, maybe you should take that nap. In your daze, you mistook Izan for someone named Ekko."

Jinx’s reaction was instant—her face went bright red, and she turned away sharply.

Sarah smirked. "I’m guessing he’s your owl? Ekko the Owl?"

"Shut up."

"Oh, so he is? Young love! So sweet, so clumsy—"

"There was nothing sweet about it," Jinx cut in, voice tight. "I was never that lucky."

Sarah arched a brow. "Bittersweet, then. But at least you had fun before you left, right?"

Jinx shrugged, looking anywhere but at Sarah. "Kicking privileged asses is always fun— with or without him . So yeah, we had fun…"

"I wasn’t talking about that kind of fun."

Jinx’s head snapped toward her, eyes narrowing. "Well, as I told your doctor, I’ll tell you: it’s none of your business!"

Sarah sighed, crossing her arms as she studied Jinx with forced patience. She wasn’t the only one on edge—the tension practically rolled off Jinx, coiled tight in the set of her jaw, in the way her fists clenched like she was ready to swing at the first bastard who looked at her wrong. Even her leg bounced against the table, an erratic rhythm of barely contained panic.

"Okay," Sarah finally said, her voice deliberately even, disarming. "You're right. It’s none of my business."

Jinx narrowed her eyes, suspicion flaring behind them.

"Exactly," she shot back, flashing a smirk that was all sharp edges. "You’re getting the hang of it."

"But if there’s even a chance that—" Sarah hesitated, her tone losing its practiced ease, dipping into something more serious. "That you’re pregnant… Jinx, you can’t just ignore it."

Jinx’s laugh came fast and harsh, a knee-jerk reaction, but it didn’t quite land.

"Please! As if that could happen."

"Could it?"

"No."

"Jinx."

" No! "

The last denial wavered. Barely a fraction, just the tiniest crack—but Sarah caught it.

And so did Jinx. Suddenly, she straightened, eyes burning with a mix of rage and something dangerously close to fear.

“No. No, no, no. It can’t be. It’s probably just another sick joke from the universe, right?” The way she said it, like she didn’t expect an answer, made it clear she was spiraling. “I can’t bring someone like me into the world! Shit!”

“Breathe," Sarah said smoothly, like she was coaxing a wild animal out of a trap. "We don’t know anything yet. That’s why I need Korrigan to check you out. Alright?”

“I don’t know why the hell you’re so stuck on this,” Jinx snapped, turning away, clawing back into denial. "As if I have any reason to worry about that. As if—"

She cut herself off so abruptly that Sarah almost missed it. Almost .

"As if you deserve to worry about such things?" Sarah offered, her voice soft and careful.

Jinx's head whipped around, her glare lethal—except there was something else in her eyes now, something raw, something that looked far too much like a wound torn open.

And then she broke.

Tears slipped free, and Sarah took a step forward, slow, measured, keeping a respectful distance.

"The first time I brought this up, you said kids are blessings," Sarah reminded her, gentle but pointed.

"The worst kind," Jinx muttered. "And mine would be a curse. If it doesn’t die before it’s born, that is. I don’t even know if that would be better or worse.” She sniffed, shaky and overwhelmed, then let out an unhinged little laugh. “It’s a fucking joke. A bad one. Because, of course. Of course, this is the one thing I was missing, right? Motherhood. Because everything I touch just thrives and grows and gets a nice little happy ending, huh? No way. The last time I tried to take care of someone—"

Jinx shattered.

Sarah had seen grief before. She had watched mothers collapse at their children's graves and had heard wails that clawed through the air like dying things. But she had never seen someone this young, this wrecked, carry that kind of grief.

So, she didn’t hesitate. She reached out and held her. And Jinx clung to her like she was the only thing keeping her from drowning.

"I don't know what ghosts are haunting you, but if you're pregnant, that kid isn’t a curse just because it's yours, Jinx." Sarah leaned forward, voice smooth, measured like a card player holding a winning hand. "It’s not a punishment. Not some cruel joke. And if there's even the slightest chance…" She paused, calculating, weighing her words like a gambler sizing up the stakes. "If there's a chance, at least face it…"

Jinx’s eyes flickered—barely, but enough. Then, just as quickly, they hardened.

"There’s no chance," she shot back, her voice all sharp edges and bravado, but underneath? A plea twisted into mockery. "No way in hell I'm fertile. Nothing to check."

But her body, damn traitor that it was, told a different story. A hand over her stomach—subtle, unconscious, the way expectant mothers shield what’s theirs.

Sarah clocked the movement but didn’t call it out. No need to push. Just a knowing nod, the kind that lets silence do the talking. They both knew this wasn’t over.

"Then let Izan take a look." Her tone was light and coaxing, but there was steel underneath. "If you're right—if there’s nothing there"—she gestured lazily to Jinx’s belly—"then we laugh this off later. But if we’re right, we help you. No matter what you decide."

Jinx narrowed her eyes. Still caged, still cornered.

"And if I'm right?"

"Then you owe me a round for making me worry my pretty little head over nothing."

That got a snort out of Jinx, her tension easing just a fraction. She flopped back, arms crossed behind her head.

"Uh-huh. We’ll see who owes whom."

Sarah just smiled, slow and knowing. She always got what she wanted. "Yeah, we’ll see."

And even as Jinx pretended not to care, Sarah saw it—the way her gaze lingered on the ceiling, lost in some memory she wasn’t ready to share. 

A storm she wasn’t about to chase. Not yet…

Chapter Text

Slowly, the fragile relationship between Piltover and Zaun— severed, yet forever entangled by history, territory, and ruin —began to mend. 

And Caitlyn Kiramman hated it.

Not the peace, no. Just the truth it forced her to swallow: that she had not been a force for change but an obstacle to it.

Despite all the generations of Kiramman women who had left their mark on Piltover, carving legacies into its very foundations, all she could do—after fighting to overthrow Ambessa, after saving both cities from the grip of tyranny—was step aside indefinitely.

She had done too much damage. Too many scars bore her name. And if peace was truly within reach, the only sensible thing left was to disappear. To fade into the periphery of a world that was trying to rebuild and would do it better without her…

Now, she moved in the shadows, offering her family's wealth as a silent penance—pouring it into the reconstruction of shattered districts, into healing the wounded, into anything that might balance the weight of her crimes.

She was wounded, too. Inside and out .

Time away from the public eye might grant her the space to mend, but more than that, it meant she could be there for Vi. 

Because Vi was grieving. For Powder . For Jinx…

Some days, Vi held herself together—hopeful, too caught up in the present to dwell on what her sister’s absence truly meant.

Other days, she shattered.

She would break in the dead of night, curling in on herself, jaw clenched, fists trembling—ashamed to let the grief consume her. And then there were nights when she sobbed openly, desperate, unguarded, as if pleading for someone, anyone, to hear her. To reach into the hollow space where her sister used to be and pull her back.

Caitlyn was always there. In the same way Vi had once steadied her during the long nights spent mourning her mother, she did so now—with quiet devotion, gentle words, and slow, grounding touches as Vi wept herself to sleep.

And Caitlyn grieved, too.

For her mother, of course. The loss of her was an open wound she was beginning to believe would never heal.

For Jayce, her soul brother, whom she couldn't even visit because he didn’t leave a body when he left. 

And, in a way, for herself.

Because deep down, she knew her past self would have preferred death over the crimes she had justified under the guise of justice. The things she had done in her desperation to quiet the rage she felt over her mother’s death would haunt her forever.

How would she ever sleep again, knowing she had twisted her mother’s— her entire family’s —most altruistic project into a biological weapon?

When would she stop feeling sick every time she looked at Vi sleeping beside her, breathing calmly, and remembered how she had abandoned, beaten, and betrayed her? How had she broken the only person who had never stopped choosing her?

What great feat had she accomplished in another life to deserve this— to be loved despite everything ?

Her father had once told her she’d been born under a lucky star. Only now did she believe it. Because only sheer, incomprehensible luck could explain why, after everything, Vi still saw her with love. Why, even now, she still chose her. Every damn day.

They had lost so much. But they still had each other. And maybe— just maybe —that could be enough. 

Caitlyn stared at her reflection, fingers trailing absently over the jagged scar that marred her skin— her lost eye . Her disheveled hair framed her face, a reminder of weeks spent locked away in Kiramman Manor, hiding from the world and herself. She exhaled sharply, her shoulders tensing as she muttered, "I look like a pirate."

Vi smirked from behind her, wrapping her arms around Caitlyn’s waist and pulling her close. "Pirates are hot, Captain Cupcake . And, honestly, only you could pull it off. Though, if you want a glass eye—"

Caitlyn shuddered. "Gods, no. My grandfather had one. It was hideous."

Her eyes flickered to the mirror again, catching something odd—a streak of blue threading through Vi’s hair. She reached out, brushing her fingers against it. "And this?"

"Oh, this?" Vi tugged the strand forward, inspecting it with a grin. "It’s fake. Some of the Firelights gave it to me while we were messing around. Blue is still everywhere in Zaun… all because of her."

Jinx.

Once a pariah, now an icon. The girl Vi had spent her whole life protecting—failing to protect—had become a legend, revered for her brilliance and sacrifice.

Caitlyn hesitated before murmuring, "If you ever wanted to dye some strands blue, I wouldn’t mind. It suits you, love. Better than the oily mess you had before you started styling it. And maybe… it could be a way to keep her with you."

Vi chuckled softly, a sound caught between amusement and grief. "You always say the sweetest things," she teased, pressing a lingering kiss to Caitlyn’s shoulder. "Thanks."

That night, in a quiet moment of defiance, Caitlyn took one of Vi’s pink locks and dyed it a deep, electric blue. And, for the first time in what felt like forever, they dared to step out of the manor together, both determined to have a good time…

Dinner at Caitlyn’s favorite restaurant was more bearable than Vi had expected, despite the stifling air of formality. Vi had never cared much for elegance, but Caitlyn seemed at ease, the corners of her lips twitching upward in something that almost resembled a real smile. Later, they made their way to The Last Drop, its ruins now rebuilt, its ownership now Vi’s. There, under the cover of dim lights and hushed conversations, they drank and danced until the weight of their grief dulled momentarily.

For one night, at least, they let themselves pretend the past wasn’t heavier than the present and that they weren’t haunted by grief. 

But even as Vi lost herself in Caitlyn’s laughter, in the burn of alcohol, in the rhythm of the music, an echo from the past slipped through the cracks:

"Always with you, sis."

Vi closed her eyes. She wanted to believe it. She wanted to believe Jinx was still there, lingering just outside her reach, out of her sight. That her voice wasn’t just a memory.

That she could still come back.

But it wasn’t true.

No matter how fiercely her heart clung to hope, the truth was colder than any illusion. Her sister was dead, and Vi had to learn to live with that weight in her heart…

Zaun felt different.

Not just in the way its streets looked—reconstructed buildings where there had been ruins, the wreckage finally cleared, the air a fraction lighter—but in something deeper, something harder to name. The city had always thrived on chaos, but for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like it was rotting from within.

Caitlyn rested her head on Vi’s shoulder as they gazed out over the rooftops. “It’s incredible how quickly things have changed,” she murmured. “It’s barely been a month, and yet... it feels like Zaun is breathing again. You should be proud.”

Vi exhaled, the hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. “The credit goes to Sevika and Ekko. She’s found a balance neither Vander nor Silco ever could, and as much as I hate to admit it, she’s doing her part on the Council. And Ekko… Zaun wouldn’t be standing like this without him. His ideas, his Firelights—hell, even his stubborn little speeches. He’s done more for this city than I ever could.”

Caitlyn tilted her head, studying Vi carefully. “Ekko...” she echoed. “I never really knew him. We barely spoke, and when we did, it was just for him to mock me. But I always admired him. He’s accomplished so much at such a young age. And yet, I haven’t seen him since...” Her voice faltered. “Since his unexpected absence at the funerals. No one has. Just his second-in-command and the Firelights. How is he?”

Vi exhaled sharply, dragging her tongue over her teeth before taking a slow sip of her drink.

“How do you think?” she muttered. “Like someone forced to live with one lung, one kidney, half his mind, and half his heart for the rest of his days. They died with my sister, and he’s been limping through life ever since.”

Caitlyn flinched at the sheer bluntness of it. Vi always spoke like that—sharp-edged, all fists and raw nerve endings—but beneath the roughness, there was that deep, aching tenderness. Loyalty carved into every syllable. Pain she wouldn’t sugarcoat.

“But... when they fought on the bridge, when he tried to save us... It didn’t seem like they cared for each other. They tore into each other like—like bitter enemies, not—”

“ Friends ,” Vi finished, her voice quieter now, almost regretful. She set her glass down, staring at it like it held answers. “Yeah. I know. But that’s the thing, Cait. That kind of hatred? It doesn’t come from nothing. It comes from love, twisted and ruined. They fought like that because they still cared too much, because they had hurt each other too much to forgive... and yet, in the end, they did it. They just ran out of time…”

The words unsettled her. 

“Ekko and Powder were the best of friends: Little Man and Little Lady ,” Vi continued, her voice softer now, tinged with nostalgia. “And the only thing that kept me sane in Stillwater was thinking that they were together. That, even without me, they were okay. Finding out the truth... It broke me all over again.”

Silence settled between them—not awkward, but heavy. Thoughtful.

They were thinking of him. Of everything he had lost.

And without needing to say it, they both understood the difference between their grief and his. Because if anything had kept them afloat, it was love.

But Ekko... Ekko had only ever had one great love, and she had burned to ashes.

“It must be horrible,” Caitlyn whispered. “Going through all this alone. Without someone to remind you why you should keep going.”

Vi's gaze darkened, her fingers tightening around the glass. “Grief is a curse,” she murmured. “But I think it’s the most beautiful of all.”

Caitlyn looked at her curiously. “Why?”

Vi gave her the saddest smile.

“Because it’s the only proof that love will always be stronger than death.”

Chapter Text

Ekko woke from what could have been the sweetest, silliest dream… or the cruelest nightmare. It was always like that with her—Jinx, his worst best friend, his best enemy. His one true, yet tainted, love.

In the dream, she was still with him. 

They were working together purifying…the air? Or was the water? The details blurred, slipping away like smoke. But he remembered the feeling. The fire in her eyes when they argued, the sharp-edged laughter when they mocked each other’s mistakes. The way their minds clashed, tangled, and somehow made something brilliant out of the wreckage. Genius and madness. Chaos and order. Just like when they were kids, back when the future felt like something they could still shape.

Back when they still had hope.

It had been so vivid, so warm. So real.

But dreams never last.

He had tried to hold on—to Powder, to Jinx, to whatever fragile piece of her had still belonged to him. But holding her had always been like trying to cup smoke in his hands. She slipped through his fingers every time. Always disappearing…

And in the end, as always, Ekko woke up alone.

He lay still, staring at the space beside him. The same spot Jinx had taken over in the weeks before the final battle. His bed…their bed, if only for a little while. He could almost see her sprawled out, complaining about how uncomfortable it was to share so little space, but never moving away from his side. Those violet-pink eyes, glowing with the Shimmer he had hated so much—until he learned to love it in her…

The worst part was this was progress. At first, he hadn’t been able to sleep at all. 

He’d grown too used to the sound of her steady breathing at night, to the way her body curled against his in a space too small for two people, to the quiet, impossible comfort of knowing they weren’t alone. For the first time in years, they had been able to sleep without nightmares. Like when they were children, sneaking sleepovers with the others, safe in the illusion of family.

Now, sometimes, just as he drifted off, he swore he heard her voice.

Sometimes laughing. Sometimes, she called his name, the way only she could.

And then, reality would gut him all over again.

Jinx was gone. Forever.

And the hollow, aching space she left behind would never be filled.

Losing her wasn’t just losing a person—it was losing balance, the fragile thread between his genius and his madness. Without her, the world tilted wrong, like a machine missing its most vital cog.

And if that was the price, then let him go mad a thousand times over. Let him hear her voice in the echoes of empty streets, see her in the neon smears of Zaun’s skyline, feel her in the trembling spaces between heartbeats. If it meant keeping her close, he would rot in the past.

He knew he shouldn’t. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to.

Her absence had weight, pressing against him like lead, refusing to let him move forward. He lingered in her memory. In her.

She was burned into his eyelids, branded into the backs of them—so that even in darkness, especially in darkness, she would be there. Until the grave.

His room, his workshop… they remained untouched, frozen in the moment she last existed within them. Her mug still sat on her side of the workbench, waiting. As if she might waltz in any second, snatch it up with an exaggerated complaint and that damn, knowing grin.

Her graffiti remained—loud, violent, hers. Marking everything she had claimed without permission, chaotic proof that she had been here. Every stroke of paint on the walls, on his skin, was a scream into the void. A desperate, unrelenting declaration that for one fleeting moment, she had existed with him.

Before the battle, as they painted each other's bodies, he had dared to question if he truly loved her. Or rather—he knew he did, but he wasn’t sure he was at peace with that knowledge. He’d told her a couple of times, emboldened by the euphoria of her kisses and the safety of night, but never enough.

And now—now, curled around her pillow, inhaling the last traces of her scent, he regretted every hesitation. Every time he had wanted to say it and held back, afraid that his love, too heavy, too consuming, would chase her away…

But Jinx would never hear it anymore.

And that, more than anything, was the true curse of grief: love, clinging to a ghost.

To her.

What was the purpose of have shattered time if he couldn’t save her in the end?

Why, of all possible realities, all other lives, had they ended up in the one where they didn’t end up together? Where death, of all things, had managed to separate them?

(...)

Six weeks.

No matter how hard Jinx tried to deny it, the math checked out.

It was almost funny—how they, the supposed geniuses of the group, kept walking straight into the dumbest, most avoidable disasters. Biology 101: Sex could lead to a baby. How the hell had two smart people managed to forget something so basic? And now, thanks to their stupidity, there was a problem the size of a pomegranate seed growing inside her.

"Your intelligence is useless if you lack common sense!" Benzo used to scold them whenever their recklessness nearly got them killed. Vander had been more direct: "Keep that up, and you'll end up dead soon." 

It was meant to scare them into behaving. It never worked.

What would they say now?

What would Silco say now?

A shudder crept up her spine.

Silco never stayed mad at her for long, but this? This would be the end of his patience. He despised the "reckless brats of Zaun"—the ones selfish enough to bring children into a world that would chew them up and spit them out.

And why would her kid, out of all the children in Zaun, be the exception to that belief?

"I’m so stupid."

"Of course, you’re not," Korrigan said instantly, his voice firm but not unkind. "You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last to end up in this situation. Parenthood often starts like this—"

"Then the world is full of stupid parents," she muttered, bitter.

Korrigan opened his mouth to counter, but Sarah’s sharp look stopped him. Now wasn’t the time for comfort.

"Six weeks is just an estimate," the doctor continued, returning to the clinical side of things. "A blood test will confirm it, but based on your symptoms and what you’ve told me—"

"I can promise you I’m too terrified to lie, doc. Six weeks sounds right. Fuck..."

"What matters now is that you’re still in the first trimester. That means no major complications yet, regardless of what you decide to do with the pregnancy."

"Decide?"

"If you choose to continue, we need to improve your health immediately—fix your diet, supplement deficiencies, and prevent complications. If you choose to terminate, there’s still time to do it safely with medication. If we wait past twelve weeks, it would require more invasive—"

"Invasive? Are you going to gut me?"

"No, of course not—"

"Give her a damn minute, Korrigan," Sarah interrupted, watching Jinx’s hands shake. "She’s too freaked out to hear any of that right now. Hell, I don’t even understand half the shit you’re saying. What I do know is that getting her healthy won’t hurt, no matter what she decides." She smirked. "We’ve got some mermaid steak and blood sausage stashed for emergencies. A pregnancy, in my very humble opinion, qualifies as one. That’ll help, right?"

"I’m not eating that crap!" Jinx shot back, her stomach twisting at the thought.

"Yes, you are—doctor’s orders," Korrigan said, unbothered. "And I’ll write down a list of other supplies to pick up once we land. I’ll give you a moment to dress, Miss O’Connol."

Jinx barely noticed him leaving. Her hand shot out, gripping Sarah’s wrist before she could follow.

Korrigan’s voice trailed from the next room: "You’re in good hands, Jinx."

But she didn’t feel in good hands. Not at all.

She saw Sarah’s hand coming and instinctively flinched, bracing for impact. But the blow never landed. Instead, fingers, rough from years at sea, wiped a tear from her cheek. 

Jinx blinked. Stunned. Miss Fortune looked just as surprised.

“What was that Jinx?”

“I screwed up,” she admitted, her voice cracking, raw with something close to fear. “I lied to you. You should be furious. All I ever do is screw things up—”

“No argument there,” Sarah snorted. “But being mad at you doesn’t mean I get to hit you.”

‘Vi would think otherwise…’

“And lucky for you,” Sarah went on, crossing her arms, “I’m more worried than pissed right now.”

Jinx let herself drop onto the stretcher, the room tilting around her. The confession clawed its way up her throat, and she was too tired to keep swallowing it down.

“I denied it,” she muttered with a hollow laugh, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if waiting for it to come crashing down. “Not to trick you. I thought I didn’t have to care. Why would I? Someone as messed up, as cursed as me—no way the universe would give me something good. And Ekko…”

His name twisted like a knife. She swallowed hard.

“Ekko is good. Too good. How is it fair that he’d be stuck with me? It doesn’t make sense. But now… now it does.”

Sarah exhaled sharply. “Jinx, this isn’t about fate, or magic, or karma. It’s biology. It just happens. It’s the most natural thing in the world.”

Jinx let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Natural? Fortune, there is nothing natural about me. I don’t know how to be normal. I don’t know how to do things right. If I followed the ‘natural order’ of things, I’d be dead weeks ago, months ago, years ago. Nothing about me has ever been right.”

“That’s why you have a choice,” Sarah said simply. “To decide what’s best for you. And whatever you pick, you won’t do it alone.”

Jinx stared at the floor, arms wrapped tight around herself. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.”

“Want my two cents?” Sarah asked, softer this time.

Jinx didn’t answer. But she didn’t stop her either.

“You’re scared,” Sarah said. “Not just of what’s coming—but because either choice feels like it’ll break you. If you go through with it, you think you won’t make it. If you don’t, you’re afraid you won’t make it through that either. Because even if it’s not wrong, even if it’s just a choice, you think kids are something good. Too good for someone like you.”

A cold shudder ran through her bones.

“Silco wouldn’t have approved,” she whispered, almost to herself. “He always said it was cruel. Bringing someone into this world when you can’t promise them something better.”

She looked up, locking eyes with Sarah. Desperate. Defiant. Begging her to understand.

“I’m a lot of awful things, Sarah. But I’m not cruel. I’m not.”

Sarah gave a sharp, humorless laugh.

"Well, Silco's not here anymore."

Jinx shot her a glare cold enough to freeze hell over, but Sarah didn’t so much as blink.

"I'm not saying you should forget him," she continued. "But don’t base your decision on what a dead man would have wanted. This? This is your life, your body, your choice."

Jinx squeezed her eyes shut. Her skull pounded like a war drum. Her fingers dug into the fabric of her shorts, nails biting through the layers.

"It's not just that," she murmured.

Sarah waited. The office clock clicked forward, each second stretching, dragging, clawing at the silence.

Then, as if something inside her had finally snapped, Jinx choked out the words she’d been swallowing for too long.

"I don't know how to take care of anyone. Not after Isha."

Sarah felt a lurch in her gut. That name. She’d heard it before. Rafen had mentioned it once, in hushed tones, recounting Jinx’s nightmares, the way she woke up screaming. But before she could ask, Jinx kept going, her voice fraying at the edges.

“She was just a kid. A scrappy little brat from Zaun who had no one else. I found her in the wreckage, and she followed me like a stray dog. And I... I let her. I promised her she’d be safe.”

Her voice cracked like shattered glass.

“But then everything went to hell.” A bitter chuckle scraped past her lips. “It always does with me. There were explosions, gunfire... I turned around, and she wasn’t there anymore. She tried to protect me, and when she did...”

She bit down on her lip, hard enough to taste metal.

“I prayed, Sarah. I begged. To Janna, to anyone who would listen. ‘Take me, not her. Please, please, please’.” 

Her eyes drifted off, unfocused, empty. “But Janna never gave her back to me.”

Sarah felt something twist in her stomach. This wasn’t the Jinx everyone knew. Not the loud, reckless, grinning maniac people admired, feared, and worshipped.

This Jinx was hollow. Splintered. Barely holding herself together…

“What if it happens again?” Jinx whispered. “What if I mess up? What if, because of me, another innocent person dies?” She swallowed hard. “Ekko would never forgive me for that.”

Sarah let out a slow breath and leaned forward, placing a firm hand on Jinx’s shoulder.

“Listen to me. I don’t know what happened that day or what else you could have done. But I know this: history doesn’t have to repeat itself.” Her voice was steady, grounded. “You don’t have to decide anything right now. No one’s asking you to. But whatever you choose... You won’t be alone in it. That, I can promise.”

Jinx stiffened. Then, against every instinct screaming at her to push Sarah away, she let herself lean into the warmth of the touch.

Let herself believe, even for a second, that she wasn’t drowning alone…

Tears burned the edges of her vision, but she refused to let them fall.

Not yet.

Not when she still had no idea what the hell she was going to do, what choice she would make—what regret she would have to live with.

(...)

Vi walked through the few, dim corridors of the Firelights’ tree refuge, a weight pressing against her ribs. The air was thick—too thick. The eyes trailing her back weren’t just watching. They were judging. She'd been here since the Great Battle, but something was different this time. Heavier. Colder.

The Firelights never asked for help—least of all from someone tangled up with Piltover. With Caitlyn. But today, one of them had stopped her. Scar. His face said enough: urgency, hesitation, something dangerously close to fear.

“You have to talk to him.”

Vi felt a twist in her gut. “What’s wrong with him?”

Scar hesitated.

"Ever since... ever since Jinx left, he’s been bad. But now it’s worse. He barely sleeps, barely eats. He barely talks to us. He just locks himself in his workshop, and... I don’t know what he’s doing in there, but he can’t keep going like this. If anyone can pull him out, it’s you."

Vi wasn’t so sure about that.

She doubted Ekko wanted to see her. And if he did, it sure as hell wouldn’t be to talk about Powder. But if there was even the smallest chance of dragging him out of whatever hole he’d fallen into…

She exhaled sharply and followed Scar’s directions to the workshop. Two knocks. No answer.

“Ekko, it’s me.” Silence. “I’m coming in.”

The workshop was dark, the only light an eerie blue glow from a flickering holographic panel.

Ekko sat hunched over his workbench, back turned, drowning in tools and scraps of metal. Everything was scattered, abandoned mid-thought, like order didn’t matter anymore. Like nothing did.

And then Vi saw it.

Amid the wreckage—paint-streaked gears, half-finished devices, sketches—were traces of her. Their Powder. Jinx.

Her presence clung to the room, woven into the chaos, like Ekko still believed she’d come crashing through the door at any second, eyes wild, pockets full of stolen junk, laughing like the world wasn’t rotting around them.

But Jinx wasn’t coming back.

“What do you want?”

“To make sure you’re not rotting in here. Everyone’s worried sick about you—”

“Tell them I’m fine. That’s what I have a right-hand man for. If Scar has a problem he can’t solve on his own, he can come find me himself.”

“Don’t be a brat, Ekko.” Vi huffed, forcing herself to stay calm. She knew grief made people lash out. She had hurt others—physically—when she was drowning on her own. She wouldn’t be a hypocrite. “You can’t fool me. I know you’re not fine. At least look at me, Ekko.”

Nothing.

Vi stepped closer, trying to catch his eyes. She hated pushing, but she couldn’t stop herself. She had already lost her sister. She wasn’t losing him, too.

“Do you dream about her?”

Ekko tensed like she had struck him, his shoulders tight, breath caught in his throat. Then, after a moment, he trembled.

Vi hated seeing him like this. But at least he was awake now.

“Every night.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Silence.

Vi looked around. Everything here had her fingerprints. Her touch. Her destruction. She had taken over the workshop—taken over Ekko.

“You miss her.” The words slipped out, softer than Vi intended. “I get it—”

Ekko slammed his fist against the table.

The crash sent tools tumbling, metal clattering to the ground. Vi flinched.

“Don’t say that.”

“Say what?”

Ekko turned to her at last, his expression burning—frustration, pain, something raw barely held together.

"You say I miss her like you do. But you don’t know how I feel. You never could." His voice was low, trembling with something raw, something close to breaking. "Do you know why? Because you can’t even say her name."

Vi frowned. "What the hell are you talking about, Ekko?"

"You talk about her like she’s still Powder. Like everything that happened after, it didn’t matter. But no. Powder died long ago. That was her choice. And I’ll remind you—you and Mylo were the ones who gave her that new name. Only for you to deny it now."

Vi’s jaw tightened.

"Jinx was the one who frustrated us, saved us, and screwed up our lives all at the same time—with her madness, her brilliance, and her sacrifice. Jinx is the one I loved. The one I miss."

Vi held his gaze. "I don’t care what you call her, Ekko. I know she was my sister. And I miss her."

"No." His words cut like a blade. "You don’t miss her. You miss Powder."

Vi opened her mouth, but he didn’t give her the chance.

"Powder isn’t dead. She lives on in other lives, in other times, in universes where she never became Jinx. Where she’s happy. But here, in our reality? Powder exists only in childhood memories. And I don’t miss her. I miss Jinx—"

His voice cracked, anger bleeding into it. "I miss her madness and her genius, her explosions, her laughter, her damn graffiti all over the city. I even miss her mistakes. Because we all make mistakes. And what I can’t stand is that even in death, they continue to deny her. They refuse to call her what she chose to be. They erase her."

Vi scoffed. "What are you talking about? Her image is everywhere in Zaun. She is their princess. Their goddess. No one will ever forget her."

Ekko clicked his tongue bitterly. "The fanatics of Zaun. The ones who started calling her Janna’s messenger."

Vi sighed. "You know how people are—"

"Yeah. And it pisses me off." His fists clenched. "Janna never helped us, Vi. Never. But Jinx did. Because that’s who she was. Not because some goddess acted through her. Not because she was an instrument of something greater. She was enough. And now they’re turning her into a divine symbol... It’s like killing her all over again."

His voice broke on the last word.

Vi felt a knot tighten in her stomach. "I know," she murmured. "Believe me, I know."

Ekko laughed, humorless, hollow. "Do you? Because it sure as hell doesn’t seem like it."

Vi inhaled sharply. "You know what’s ironic? I can’t even complain that much about being compared to Janna. I get it. More than you think. But since you don’t care to know—"

Ekko narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about, Vi?"

She hesitated for only a second. "Powder was sick when she was born. Very sick. Mom... Mom entrusted her to Janna. She begged for her life. The doctors said she wouldn’t survive, but she did. Mom always believed it was a blessing, proof that Janna had heard her."

Ekko said nothing. Though he didn’t believe in gods or miracles, he respected those who did. Vi swallowed hard.

"And after all that... after Mom called her a miracle... I was the one who called her a jinx."

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Jinx. In the end, I was the one who named her that. And I regret it. Because she never was."

Her fingers curled into fists. "From the cradle, Powder was the opposite of a jinx. But I... I was. I was the only curse. Because I never knew how to be a good sister to her."

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Vi couldn’t bring herself to look at him or face the weight of her own regret. Ekko didn’t speak either. Because, to some extent, he agreed with her.

In the timeline he knew—the one where Powder never became Jinx—Vi wasn’t there. She was dead.

That had been the price of an intact Powder. A childhood without ruins. A life without war, without chaos, without bullets carving a path into destiny.

Jinx was never born because Vi was never there to reject her.

But Ekko wasn’t cruel enough to tell her that. 

And deep down, he knew it wasn’t that simple—hextech hadn’t existed back then, and Silco had found Vander’s letter and made peace with each other… The timeline had shifted in ways beyond his comprehension. 

It was more complex than a single missing piece, a single mistake from one person.

But right now, he was mad at everything. And Vi just happened to be there to deal with it.

"Be sorry for Jinx’s loss, Vi. She was your sister. And you were the one she loved most in the world, believe it or not."

Vi closed her eyes. "I do. And I will. Always."

And for the first time in a long time, she meant it.

Chapter Text

“What’s the occasion?” Jinx asked, accepting the candy a random pirate had offered her. A treat was a treat; she couldn’t be picky.

“We’re close to land! Finally, back home after so long!” The stranger grinned, clapping her hands with infectious excitement. “In Bilgewater, it’s customary to share something when good news comes your way—a little offering to spread your luck. When Gangplank’s ship went under, courtesy of Captain Fortune, folks threw their furniture out the windows to celebrate his downfall. There’s no place like home, right, Captain?”

“The Syren is my home, and the sea is where I belong. My pirate heart gets antsy on land,” Sarah replied, lounging against the railing with an easy smirk. “That said, I’m always happy to check in on my land-bound friends. If all goes according to plan, the first rounds on me at the Kraken.”

“It’ll be your first crew party, O’Connol! I wonder what you’re like when you’re tipsy…”

“I don’t drink,” Jinx cut in, her tone flat, before turning on her heel and heading toward the workshop, cotton candy melting on her tongue.

It had been a long time since she tasted something so sweet. The last time… she’d still been with Silco. Back before she stole the hex gem. Before Vi rose from the dead. Silco had always found a way to surprise her with treats for no reason other than the simple desire to see her smile.

Silco.

The same man who had taught her to build weapons before she even hit twelve. Who shaped her into something sharp and dangerous, yet never let her touch a drop of liquor? He watched over her like someone who believed they were raising a child—even long after she stopped being one. 

What would he think of this mess? Of her?

He’d be disappointed. No proof, but no doubt, either. If he were alive, he’d lay it out for her, cold and unsentimental. And he’d tell her exactly what not to do…

Taking care of a child, becoming a mother.

Even in her madness, Jinx knew that trying the same thing twice and expecting a different result was the definition of insanity. She’d tried before. She’d failed before…

She was a terrible caregiver, raised by terrible caregivers. They had all loved her in their ways, protecting her in whatever ways they could. And yet, they had all sent her to hell, one way or another. Just as she had sent Isha to hers…

Jinx hadn’t made a final decision about the chickpea yet (the doctor needed to stop comparing it to things she didn’t understand), but she had, begrudgingly, accepted the measures Sarah and Izan had put in place for her health. Chief among them: a diet meant to undo years of malnutrition in mere weeks.

She licked the last of the sugar off her fingers. A little sweetness before reality came crashing back in. And by ‘reality’, she meant Sarah, who just crashed into the room.

"I thought they were starving in Zaun."

"And why do you doubt it, Captain Fortune?"

Sarah scoffed. "I just find it hard to believe that someone from a place like that would be so picky about food. Siren meat and blood are some of the rarest delicacies in the world, and on this ship, food in general is not to be wasted. If I must force you to swallow it, I will."

Jinx wrinkled her nose. "You don’t have to treat me like a brat. I’ll eat when I’m hungry."

"Then stop acting like one and listen. Whatever you choose, you’ll need your strength to survive it."

Jinx hesitated. "Whatever I choose... What would you do in my place, Miss Fortune?"

Sarah’s lips curled into something between a smirk and a grimace. "Not relevant. You need to do what’s best for you. You’re not a kid anymore—no need to chase after adult approval. And if you do want it, you’ll have to start working on that bad habit."

‘And so many others’, Sarah thought but didn’t say.

She wasn’t here to fix Jinx. She had no right to. Jinx wasn’t her sister, wasn’t her daughter, and wasn’t even a friend. She was just... here. A ghost of something Sarah used to know, someone she’d once cared for through another person’s eyes. Whatever mess had made Jinx who she was, whatever wreckage she was dragging behind her, it wasn’t Sarah’s problem. Was it? 

‘She’s on my ship. That makes her my responsibility. I promised to at least try…’.

"I wanted someone sane to weigh in."

Sarah huffed a dry laugh. "Then you’ll have to wait for land. The closest thing to sanity aboard is Korrigan, and he’s neutral. Best he’ll give you is that the sooner you decide, the better."

Jinx’s fingers twitched. "Whatever I choose… It’s so easy to say".

"I promise you, I know it isn’t. And I don’t know if it compares, but before I make any call about this ship, I weigh risk and reward. Being a pirate means living with danger, but I try to be smart about it. Too many lives on my back to be reckless. Think about it. But don’t take too long.”

She left Jinx alone. Alone with her thoughts. And with them, the voices.

Jinx swallowed hard as the first whisper curled through her mind like a noose tightening around her throat. It had taken them a while to show up. A rare mercy…

She clenched her jaw, bracing for the torment to come.

The voices were never kind…

First, Vander.

"Powder, little one..."

Soft. Warm. The voice of a man who tried to be good, even when the world demanded cruelty. But he never knew her as Jinx. In his mind, she was still that scared little girl under the bar counter, seeking refuge in his arms. Always the runt of the litter. Always under the shadow of her troublesome siblings.

How could he see her as a mother if he wouldn’t even recognize her as an adult?

“Children need stability, security… a home to grow up in. What do you have to offer them?”

Jinx bit her tongue. Because she knew the answer. Nothing.

Then came Claggor.

“If you’re going to do it… Do it right, sis.”

He had been the kindest of the three. The one who made her laugh when she was sad. The one who tried to find a peaceful solution before throwing a punch.

But he was also the first to die.

And what was honorable about that?

Being good didn’t save him...nor anyone.

“But you can’t do it right, can you?” His voice was softer now, almost pitying. “You can’t protect anyone, Jinx. Not us. Not Isha. Why would it be any different this time? Best not even try.”

"Ha! Of course, it would be different... This time, you could kill them before you got attached."

Then, Mylo. The mockery slid into her mind like a knife through rotten flesh.

Cruel. Hurtful. Just like him in life.

"You're going to ruin everything, like always. And when you do, you'll regret not nipping this in the bud. You can't change who you are. You can't change your damn fate."

Jinx squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to hear it.

She didn’t.

But then…

"You're perfect."

Silco.

His voice was deep. Deep, like the dark waters of Zaun. If Vander had been a beacon in the storm, Silco was the tide that dragged her to the bottom and taught her how to breathe underwater. He was the only one who never considered her broken. The only one who accepted her as Jinx.

"There’s nothing more undoing than a daughter," he murmured. "They’re the one weakness you can’t shoot to save yourself. I don’t want to see you so weak now that you’re alone..."

Weak.

It was the last thing she wanted to be. The last thing she could allow herself to be.

The world was cruel; it devoured the weak without mercy.

Reflexively, her hands went to her belly.

How fragile was a chickpea?

"But I don’t want to be alone either..." she muttered, hugging herself.

The echo of her voice trembled in the empty room.

"You won’t be alone. Not while I live in your head," Mylo laughed cruelly.

"Maybe you'd like to reconsider," Claggor whispered.

"You have nothing to offer her," Vander reminded her.

"You could be free," Silco said tenderly. "Free from all this. You still can..."

But then, a voice she hadn’t expected to hear.

"You know Powder would want this."

A chill ran down Jinx’s spine.

"You never accepted Jinx."

"Maybe not. But I know Powder wanted a family. She dreamed of simple but beautiful things. Have you changed so much that you no longer want that, sis?"

Jinx gritted her teeth.

Powder.

Powder, the silly little girl who dreamed of a normal life. A home. A family. Children.

For a moment, she had found peace in Isha. 

The highlight of her lowlife was their little family...

It didn’t take long to put together the list Sarah had suggested...

Against:

• Her mental stability was a ruin.
• Her bad luck was constant.
• She had no financial stability nor permanent home.
• She was alone.
• Ekko is the dad.

Pro:

• She had always wanted this. Always.
• She would never be alone again.
• She could do something good. Something noble. Break the cycle of violence.
• Ekko is the dad.

Ekko.

The weight of his existence was an anvil on her chest.

What would he do in her place?

If she continued without him, she'd be stealing something from both—her baby, the right to know their father; and Ekko, the right to know he was one. Blessing or curse, that wasn't hers to decide. To keep it from him would be cruel.

She wasn’t cruel… Was she?

But if she told him the truth, she’d have to face his judgment. Face the fury in his eyes when he realized she had lied. Let him hate her for it.

If he stayed with her, he'd ruin his future. Zaun would lose its hope.

If he left, he’d rip her heart out and walk away with it.

And if she ended it, she’d erase the only proof that they ever existed at all.

She could not picture a single reality where he forgave her. Not for any of it.

Jinx swallowed. Whatever she chose, it was going to hurt.

Her nails bit into her palms, the sting grounding her in the suffocating weight of her thoughts. Her breath hitched, ragged and uneven. She wanted to decide. Wanted it to be as simple as pulling a trigger, as easy as blowing something up. Destroying. Forgetting.

But this—this was different.

She didn't know if praying would help. If Janna had ever truly listened, if the miracle had been mercy or just a cosmic whim. But she had no one else to ask. No mother, no sister, no family. Only a goddess her mother had worshipped—one she’d never met, one who maybe didn’t even think she was worth the trouble.

Still, she shut her eyes and begged.

“Give me something… anything. A sign. Tell me what to do. I swear, I’ll listen.”

Her voice cracked, barely a whisper. Drowned in the kind of desperation she didn’t want to name.

She waited.

And waited.

Nothing.

Her chest rose and fell, faster now, impatience bubbling up like a scream trapped in her throat. Would Janna really leave her like this? Had she already decided Jinx didn’t deserve an answer?

And then—

CRACK!

A sharp noise sliced through the silence. A groan of wood, a dull thud that rattled through the ship.

Jinx’s eyes snapped open.

The voices in her head dulled. Her breath evened out, instincts kicking in with the mechanical precision of someone who’d learned to survive.

“What the fuck…?”

The ship lurched before coming to a full stop. Footsteps pounded overhead. Shouting. A murmur rising, swelling like a wave about to crash.

Jinx rolled out of bed and peered through the hatch. Outside, Bilgewater sprawled beneath the night, its lights flickering in the murky dark, alive with its usual brand of madness. The city of pirates. Of mercenaries. Of survivors.

A place where the rules were as strong as steel—yet as easy to break as a man with nothing left to lose.

Her new, temporary home waited for her.

But the sign she was looking for still hadn’t come…

(...)

Caitlyn took a slow, deliberate breath before knocking on the door of the Talis residence.

She hadn’t set foot here in years. The last time, she had been just a girl, sitting at a family dinner celebrating Jayce’s graduation. That night, she’d learned that while the family was renowned, the Talis were not engineers but tradesmen, forging artisans. Jayce, however, had been a pioneer—even in that. The first Talis with a title.

Viktor had been there, too. Jayce had spoken of his brilliant partner with the devotion of someone describing a loved one. But that had been the only time Caitlyn had ever seen him in person. Now, she regretted how little she had truly known about him—Jayce’s stories, Ximena’s praise, and later, the whispers of a Heal-All Herald in Zaun. And then… he became an enemy.

“Caitlyn?”

Disbelief laced Ximena’s voice, sharp as a blade slipping between her ribs. Caitlyn winced. Jayce had been there for her when she lost her mother. And what had she done? She hadn’t been there for Ximena after the funeral. She had abandoned her…

Jayce—her only son—had been the light of her life, and now, those eyes no longer held their glow. Only tears remained.

“My girl… My God, it’s been so long.”

Ximena pulled her into a hug, and Caitlyn collapsed into it. The warmth in her voice was unbearable. It dragged Caitlyn back to memories she had spent years trying to forget. It was like when her mother had called her that before impossible expectations had driven them apart. It made sense now why Jayce had always been so openly kind, so disarmingly gentle. His mother was the same.

“I’m sorry I came without warning,” Caitlyn forced out, straightening herself. “I was just passing by—”

A lie.

She had been pacing in front of the house, working up the courage to knock. Working up the courage to face what she had left behind.

Ximena Talis was another person she had failed.

“—and I remembered how much you love cheesecake with your afternoon coffee,” she continued, her voice steadier than she felt. “It’s just time for tea. It’s not as good as your pan dulce, but…”

“You’re very thoughtful,” Ximena murmured. “Come in, darling. Excuse the mess—I haven’t had the heart to deal with it.”

“Don’t worry. With so many moves and changes, I’ve already forgotten what order is.”

“Moving?”

“Vi moved in with me, and Dad…” Caitlyn hesitated, the weight of her fractured home pressing against her ribs. “He hasn’t moved out yet, but… I don’t think it will take long. For now, he lives in one wing of the house, and we live in another.”

“Well, at least you can do that—make the distance work. When Jayce got mad at me as a teenager, he tried to avoid me, but in such a small apartment… there was nowhere to run.”

“The silent treatment applied to you, too?” Caitlyn managed a small, hollow laugh. “I thought he was only that dramatic with me.”

“Jayce was dramatic from the cradle,” Ximena said, shaking her head. “Like a dog that barks but doesn’t bite. You barely returned a fraction of the same treatment…”

“…and he’d come back repentant, apologizing for things you didn’t even know he’d done wrong in the first place.” Caitlyn let the words tumble out, a painful ache threading through them. “Jayce didn’t know how to hold a grudge. His heart didn’t know how to deal with hatred. It was a privilege to have love personified as a brother.”

“…And for me, to be his mother.” Ximena’s voice cracked. “He and Viktor had the purest of intentions…”

"I know," Caitlyn whispered. "And for those intentions, I choose to remember them. To miss them—not for everything else. The world never knew them the way we did. The least we can do is hold onto them for what they were truly worth. Anything less would be unjust."

She meant it. And yet, in the quiet chambers of her mind, a selfish whisper longed for that same grace. That same compassion. Had she died in the chaos, would anyone has spared her such kindness? Would anyone has chosen to remember her with warmth rather than judgment? She would have wanted—prayed—for that. For the love of the few who still held her close in their hearts…

Mrs. Talis nodded, too shaken to speak, her hands steady only in their practiced motion of pouring coffee and searching for the dessert plates. Caitlyn offered to help, but the woman refused with a soft but firm shake of her head. Guests don’t serve the host.

So, Caitlyn busied herself instead, eyes drifting over the framed memories scattered around the living room—Jayce, year after year, frozen in time. These photographs were intimate, a rawness that the grand, painted portraits in the Kiramman estate had never possessed. Back home, every expression was carefully curated, every brushstroke smoothed into perfection. But warmth? Humanity? Those had never been part of the composition. Perhaps they had never been part of the family, either.

That thought coiled around her heart, dragging her further into the quiet ache that had settled deep inside her bones. She tried to push it aside, engaging in Ximena’s small talk, letting the conversation drift from the weather to the city’s ever-changing skyline. But no matter how much she tried to keep things light, Ximena’s words always carried weight, always pulled her back down—down into that unspoken place where grief festered, waiting.

"You know…" Ximena began, pouring coffee with a practiced ease that Caitlyn found both soothing and profoundly unsettling. At what point in a woman’s life did she learn to carry such fortitude? "Being patient with your father isn’t easy, I imagine. Especially when it’s clear he’s making a mistake in the way he treats Vi. But patience is what he needs most from you right now."

Caitlyn glanced up, caught off guard.

"I understand what’s going through his mind. I know because I lived it."

The weight in Ximena’s voice stilled the air between them. She set the coffee pot down, exhaling as if bracing herself for something long buried.

"Your father is broken, just as I was when I lost Gio. It’s not easy, Caitlyn. One day, you wake up and realize you can’t breathe anymore because their love was the air in your life—and now it’s gone. And yet, somehow, the world keeps moving, as if it expects you to keep up. And you do. Because there is always someone looking at you, someone who expects you to go on, even when you can’t breathe. For a parent, that someone will always be their child. And for you, that someone is Vi, isn’t it?"

Ximena sighed as if she, too, had been swept up in her own words.

"For Tobias, Cassandra was his air, his refuge. And now… now, he is suffocating without her. But his love for you is the only thing that keeps him moving forward, even if he can’t see it himself. When your patience wears thin, Caitlyn, turn to empathy."

The words settled deep, curling inside her like a truth she had once known but long since forgotten.

And she couldn’t help but think of Vi. Of the way Vi had spoken of Ekko’s grief—the way his love for Jinx had curdled into something unbearable, something hollowed-out and raw. The love of his stolen youth twisted into his worst nightmare…

Could mourning a lover truly be as devastating as mourning a mother?

"It would ruin me..." Caitlyn murmured, staring into her coffee as though the answer were written in the dark liquid. "If something happened to Violet… I couldn't bear it."

"I know. But a mother, a father… they don’t have the luxury of being ruined. Not when there’s a child who still needs them. Pain is inevitable but giving up isn’t an option. Tobias can’t give up. Not when he has you. You are the only thing keeping him standing. And yes, it’s unfair—to you, to Vi—but so is judging someone for how they try to mend something they didn’t break. Anger is easier to hold than grief. You, of all people, should understand that."

Caitlyn exhaled sharply. "You know what I did. Everything with Jinx. All that rage I poured into the chase because accepting that my mother was gone was… more unbearable than anything else. Hating Jinx, let me fight instead of shattering. That’s what you’re telling me, isn’t it? My father is doing the same thing. Fighting something—anything—because it’s easier than facing what he’s lost."

"Precisely. And though you are Cassandra’s daughter in so many ways, in this… you are your father’s. He is angry, and that anger is all that keeps him going. But like you, there will come a moment when he must let go. It’s unfair, I know, but in the end, parents only want to see their children happy. And if Vi shows him that what you share isn’t a fleeting indulgence but something true, something enduring… he will accept it. Because, in the end, what else is there but the happiness of those we love?"

Caitlyn inhaled deeply, pressing her fingers into the porcelain of her cup. 

She still felt the sting of frustration at her father’s coldness toward Vi, who had done nothing but be kind to him and love her. And yet, Ximena’s words were beginning to unspool something within her, forcing her to consider a perspective she had refused to entertain. 

She was not accustomed to being likened to her father. And though she would have preferred it to be a compliment, she could not deny the blood in her veins.

The silence between them stretched, thick and weighty, until Caitlyn finally let out a quiet sigh. She stirred her coffee absently as if trying to dissolve something far heavier than sugar.

"I stepped away from my position as an Enforcer. Temporarily." The admission felt like an indictment, her voice dropping as she lowered her gaze. Guilt coiled tight in her chest. She had stood with pride at Jayce’s graduation, just as he and Ximena had at hers. To say this now felt like treason.

Like failure.

When had she become such a failure?

Ximena arched an eyebrow but remained silent, waiting.

"I kept getting it wrong," Caitlyn continued, gripping the cup tighter. "Too many mistakes. I thought I could make a difference. Change things. But I only ended up hurting people instead. I was cruel. I never meant to be cruel."

Ximena studied her, unreadable. "So, what now?"

Caitlyn inhaled slowly, but the answer didn’t come. Her fingers curled around the porcelain as if the warmth could ground her.

"I don’t know."

Ximena leaned back, considering her. "Then why did you become an Enforcer in the first place?"

Caitlyn gave a hollow smile, tracing a slow, deliberate circle on the surface of her coffee with the tip of her spoon. "Grayson." Her voice softened at the name. "She made me aspire to something more. She wielded her skill not for sport, not for the indulgence of hunting or the vanity of proving she was the best. She fought for people, for something beyond herself. I wanted to do the same."

Ximena nodded as though she had already known the answer. "But there was something more, wasn’t there?"

Caitlyn swallowed, her throat tight.

"My parents were kidnapped when I was fifteen." She didn’t know why she was saying it. Perhaps because, at this moment, the weight of that memory had never felt more present. "A criminal from Zaun, Corina Veraza. She demanded an obscene ransom and held them for days, forcing them to work for her, torturing them… I was desperate. Despite my age, I led the search on my own. I handed my leads over to the Enforcers, but I wasn’t allowed to do more. It wasn’t my place."

Her grip on the cup tightened further. "They got them back. But the mistakes in that operation… I couldn’t forget them."

Ximena’s expression didn’t change. "So, you enlisted the moment you were old enough."

"Despite my parents' pleas, yes. And I—an unseasoned recruit—put her behind bars."

A quiet settled between them, punctuated only by the distant hum of the city beyond the window.

Ximena exhaled, measured, and slowly. "Caitlyn… You feel lost right now. You feel like you’ve failed. But what drove you? Was it the desire to protect others? Or the need to never feel powerless again? Did you want to save people… or the ones you love most?"

Caitlyn didn’t answer.

"Whatever it was, you have to remember it." Ximena’s voice was firm now. "Because if you don’t, you’ll end up like Jayce."

Caitlyn looked up sharply, startled to find Ximena’s gaze glossy with unshed tears. Jayce had his mother’s eyes…

"My Jayce never had a clear purpose," Ximena continued. "Only dreams. And so, others—people who knew exactly what they wanted—twisted his ambitions to serve their own. I don’t want that to happen to you, Caitlyn."

Caitlyn let the words settle deep, where they would not be easily ignored. "I’ll think about it."

And for the first time in weeks, she knew she had to.

They parted with a quiet understanding, a promise unspoken but deeply felt—not to become strangers to one another, not to let shared memories, losses, and loves fade into history. They promised to visit soon—perhaps next time, with Vi.

(...)

Sevika needed a drink.

Not because the Piltover Council was boring her to death—though that was a damn good reason.

Not because she had to sit at a table with the same arrogant bastards who had treated Zaun like their personal scrapyard for years. Of course, the way they eyed her, like she was some stray dog that had wandered in, didn’t exactly strengthen her resolve to stay sober.

The council halls stank of hypocrisy. They preached unity and babbled about progress, but their eyes gave them away—still full of quiet contempt, still seeing her as a gutter rat that had somehow slithered its way up to their pristine city. 

It pissed her off. Frustration clawed at her ribs, close enough to turn her fists into weapons.

And it sure as hell wasn’t because she missed Silco.

He’d gotten everything he wanted, and he’d done it from the calm of a grave. 

She and Jinx had been left to sweep up the shattered pieces, to deal with the mess his death left behind—a power vacuum in a city where stability had always been a cruel joke.

Vander had tried to tame the chaos. Silco had learned to use it, keeping the tension with Piltover just cold enough to keep Zaun from burning to the ground. He hadn’t built order—that had been Vander’s dream—but he’d kept things stable enough for people to survive. That had to count for something.

But Zaun had changed too fast. Too clean. Too quiet.

It didn’t sit right with her.

Zaun was at peace, sure. But it was a brittle, unnatural peace, the kind that felt like a held breath before the plunge. And Sevika didn’t trust it.

Her gut screamed at her, the same gut that had learned to sniff out danger in the days of the Grey, when tragedy had torn her parents away and left nothing but ash. Peace was a trick. Peace was a lull before the storm. Kiramman had turned their world upside down by bringing back that horror from their past. What if another privileged fool decided to follow her lead? How long before it all came crashing down again? Before some unseen, ticking time bomb she hadn’t even noticed detonated right in her face?

Sevika needed a break.

That’s why she ended up at The Last Drop. Or what was left of it…

The tavern had changed. Not completely, but enough to make her uneasy.

It still reeked of cheap booze, sweat, and something she didn’t want to name, but the atmosphere felt… wrong. Fewer scoundrels lurked in the shadows; the air was less suffocating with desperation. The stench of Shimmer no longer clung to every table, every glass. Vi had scrubbed the place clean, but its past still clung to it like a scar that refused to fade. It was caught in between—what it had been under Vander and what it became under Silco. 

And maybe that made sense. Zaun was their battleground, marked by their brotherhood and their war. The bar was just another piece of the wreckage.

Vi and Sevika locked eyes. The tension between them was thick enough to choke on. Too much history. Too much bad blood to be washed away with cheap words. Sevika looked ready to use Vi as a punching bag to let out all the bottled-up rage she carried. All she needed was an excuse…

"You care about Zaun now?" Vi spat, her voice dripping with venom. "After everything you did? After being Silco’s lapdog? After helping him drag us through the filth? You don’t deserve a seat on the Council. You deserve to rot like the cowardly traitors before you. Like your boss. Zaun would be better off without you."

Sevika exhaled through her nose, unimpressed. "In whose hands, then? The Firelight boy? Last I heard, he's out of commission indefinitely." Vi gritted her teeth—hating, absolutely hating that she wasn’t wrong. "And you better not mean yourself, brat. Because if we’re talking traitors, you win the damn prize. You unleashed Piltover’s weapons on your people just to keep a rich girl’s bed warm. Even Vander, soft as he was, would be ashamed to call you his."

"Don't you dare speak of him," Vi growled, slamming a fist against the bar. "And don't you dare talk to me about betrayal."

Her knuckles turned white from the pressure. Sevika just stared, that same infuriating disdain in her eyes—though something darker flickered beneath. Anticipation. A silent dare. She was waiting for Vi to throw the first punch.

It wouldn’t be the first time. It sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

Then, the jukebox sputtered to life.

A raspy voice crooned the opening lines of Our Love, a slow, aching ballad from a time before everything drowned in blood and Shimmer. Before Zaun split itself apart. Before any of this.

They knew the song. Of course, they did.

Vi felt something in her chest tighten.

No matter how hard she tried, that damn song always dragged her back. To Vander, humming along while polishing glasses behind the bar. To Powder giggling as she tried to clap to the beat. To their mother, twirling them in clumsy circles while their dad cheered them on. Back when family still meant something. Back when the world, for a fleeting moment, seemed less cruel.

Sevika wasn’t amused by the nostalgic jolt either.

Before Zaun split into factions. Before Vander and Silco became irreconcilable enemies. Before all that came after. Our Love had been an anthem of better days. Felicia used to sing it in the quiet moments when the tavern was nothing more than a haven. No matter how dire things got, hearing it made you feel like the world wasn’t completely lost.

For Sevika, those memories were even more bitter than the drink in her glass.

Because those days were gone.

No matter how much blood she spilled trying to reclaim them, they were never coming back.

Vi exhaled sharply, shaking off the past. But then she saw it.

A mural on the opposite wall—painted in reckless, fevered strokes. Explosive. Vibrant. Chaotic.

Jinx.

That manic grin. That wild, electric stare.

It had appeared sometime in that strange, hollow space between Silco’s death and before Vi took over The Last Drop, after they'd dragged it back from the ashes. She never erased it. Not because she didn’t want to—she hated seeing it every damn day—but because covering it up felt... wrong. Like a betrayal.

Her gaze dropped to the artist’s signature. Her brow furrowed.

“ZNO?” she muttered, leaning in.

Sevika narrowed her eyes. “I have no fucking idea.”

Neither did anyone else. After a second of trying to recall some gang or idiot using those initials, they stopped caring. Just another wannabe worshipping the image of Jinx—the Loose Cannon who had "led Zaun to freedom” along Ekko’s firelights…

Vi felt the anger churn in her gut. “It sickens me that they talk about her like she’s myth. Like they don’t know what she did. Like, I don’t know.”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “And fuck, if anyone loves her, it’s me. What does that say about me? What kind of person still loves someone like that?”

Sevika glanced at her but didn’t say a word. Vi drummed her fingers against the bar, eyes fixed on the splintered wood.

“Everyone says they miss her. That they want her back. But they don’t talk about Powder. They talk about Jinx. And I’m only just learning to see her as my sister. But they idolized her broken, fucked-up version—like she was never anything else. Like that’s the best version of her.” Her jaw clenched. “When we both know she never should’ve ended up like that. Jinx exists because we failed her when she needed us most.”

Sevika shrugged. “Maybe because that’s how they remember her. Or because the other version of her died years ago, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Or maybe, at the end of the day, people only see what they want to see. The Loose Cannon. The daughter of Felicia, of Vander, of Silco. She did what they always wanted, what they died for, but she didn’t live to enjoy it. That’s the story.”

She took a slow drag from her cigar and exhaled. “And now it’s up to us to make sure her martyrdom wasn’t in vain.”

Vi felt the lump in her throat but didn’t argue. Because, deep down, she knew Seika was right.

The older woman took a long drink and set the glass down on the bar with a dull thud. “Zaun moves on. It always does. Jinx isn’t the first to get lost in the shit of this city, and she won’t be the last. No one is indispensable. I learned that when Vander was killed. When Silco was killed. As much as they thought Zaun belonged to them, it’s bigger than any of us now.”

Vi glanced at her, expecting that usual cold, pragmatic tone. But then, in a flicker of something almost human, Sevika slumped against the bar, her voice quieter, almost to herself.

“But… I did come to care for her. Despite myself.”

She let out a short, bitter laugh. “I guess those moments with her and Isha were the closest thing to a family I ever had. A fucked-up, dysfunctional, chaotic family, but… something is better than nothing.”

Vi didn’t respond immediately. She understood all too well.

“The one thing I truly admired about Jinx,” she said finally, her voice softer, “is that she took care of that kid. That, and that she ultimately decided to fight for Zaun. That she tried to do something good.” She hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. “It made me think… maybe she wasn’t completely lost.”

Sevika let out a low, tired chuckle. “If you say so, brat.”

The song still played in the background as they both fell silent, drowning in the weight of everything left unsaid.

(...)

Jinx was silently grateful that the party had moved from the Kraken to the beach. At least here, her attempts to dodge cigarette smoke and refuse drinks went mostly unnoticed. For the first time in her life, she felt like an insufferable killjoy—but what was she supposed to do? Not when she had that tiny little chickpea lodged inside her, impossible to ignore no matter how much she wanted to.

Even if she decided to get rid of it—him, her, whatever—that didn’t mean she had to pump it full of toxins first. Korrigan had rambled on about the horrors it could cause, like missing limbs or an extra eye where one shouldn’t be. Jinx had seen enough nightmares with to know she wanted no part of it.

She might have been a menace, a disaster, a walking, giggling catastrophe. But she wasn’t cruel.

She’d never cared for those vices anyway, not even when she was at her lowest. She wasn’t about to start now, not when, for better or worse, her body wasn’t just hers anymore.

From the outskirts of the party, she watched Sarah Fortune dance barefoot on the sand, tangled in sea shanties and drunken cheers. Her hips swayed like a ship caught in a storm, her laughter rolling over the beach like a tide. So alive, so unshackled, so free that for a moment, Jinx almost forgot—almost—that this was one of the deadliest pirates to ever plague the seas. That her past, as she’d once shared, was as brutal as Jinx’s own.

Sarah had done what Ekko had done with the Firelights in Zaun: taken the wreckage of her past and forged it into something greater. A legacy, not just a wound.

What made them so different from her? What separated them from a fragile mind like hers?

Once upon a time, she might’ve hated them for it. Envied them. Raged against them.

But now? After everything—after leading Zaun into war with her twisted brand of brilliance, after standing in the light these two radiated just by existing—she only watched. Wondering if, in another life, she might have done the same.

"Come here, Jinx!" Sarah’s voice yanked her from her thoughts, and before she could react, the redhead had already grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the chaos. For the first time that night, Jinx regretted not having brought a weapon. "Or is it that Zaun doesn’t know how to move? Follow my rhythm and have a little fun! Rare times for it. Don’t rob yourself of it."

The words struck a nerve.

Ekko used to say something like that. He never really joined the Firelights’ celebrations, but he let them happen. When she’d asked him why—probably just to kill time while working on their war machine—he’d said it was necessary to lighten the spirit.

That was it. No further explanation. She hadn’t pressed. She hadn’t understood.

Silco had said something similar every time he insisted on celebrating her birthdays or the tiny victories of her inventions: life was too short and too cruel to waste the little joys that slipped through the cracks of misery.

Three people, different in every way that mattered—different pasts, different dreams, different wars—but all of them had landed on the same damn conclusion.

So, she did it.

She ignored Sarah’s rhythm and moved the way she remembered her mother dancing at home, to the static-fuzzed music of an old radio, between the rhythm of chores and the chaos of their tiny, crowded apartment. She danced until her feet burned, until the world blurred, until her thoughts—sharp-edged, vicious things—dulled to nothing.

And then, she understood. ‘Lightening the spirit’ was just a pretty way of saying that, for a few fleeting moments, the screaming in her head stopped. 

For the first time in forever, she wasn’t drowning in what she had lost.

She was only here, only now, only this.

Her ghosts would still be waiting when the music stopped.

But for now, there was only the dance.

As the Syren's welcoming party bled into the first light of dawn, Sarah, Rafen, and Jinx made their way back to the ship. The former, because even on dry land, this was home. The latter, because she had nowhere else to go.

Rafen and Jinx half-dragged the staggering captain toward her cabin, but before they could shove her inside, a flickering light caught their attention. Someone was already in there.

Rafen’s instincts kicked in—his blade was out in a breath. He pressed Sarah’s gun into Jinx’s hands, lowering his voice so the captain wouldn’t hear through her drunken haze.

"Being part of the Syren means being willing to die for her."

A cold shiver slithered down Jinx’s spine. Almost without thinking, her hand drifted to her stomach. But Sarah, oblivious to the tension crackling around her, simply kicked the door open, grinning like an idiot.

Reckless? Absolutely. But it was naive to think she did it out of carelessness…

"Ahri!" Sarah groaned, with the exasperated patience of someone who’s had this conversation too many times. "I told you, you can’t just break into a pirate’s cabin whenever the mood strikes! You could’ve been shot if I hadn’t noticed your key!"

"That’s exactly why I left it—to make sure you noticed and knew you weren’t being robbed."

"You’re missing the point, but I’m too drunk to explain. Jinx, Ahri of Ionia. Ahri, Jinx O’Connol, Isobel’s little gremlin in the weapons bay. Now, what are you doing here? Don’t tell me there’s another problem, you mischievous little vixen. Raf, say hello!"

"Rafen is upset because I scared him for nothing. My apologies for that."

Rafen grunted but accepted Ahri’s embrace with stiff reluctance. The vastaya then turned her eerie golden gaze toward Jinx.

"Since when are there pirates in Zaun?"

"Didn’t you say I would hide my origins with a last name, Fortune?"

"With a normal person, sure. But Ahri is a clever little fox—very few tricks get past her. And I’ve never been one to judge people for their pasts, have I, Ahri? Your presence here proves it."

Ahri tilted her head, her tail flicking idly. "You have Janna’s mark imprinted on your face. And her blessing. Her cloak shields you."

Jinx’s stomach twisted. Her fingers twitched around the grip of Sarah’s gun.

"You’re completely lost, vixen."

"Jinx, don’t be rude!"

"That’s what you called her!"

"Yeah, but I meant it with affection. You know her name—use it. Please."

"I apologize," Ahri said, her voice even. "I only spoke of what I saw. I didn’t realize it would touch a nerve."

"Pfft, what nerve?" Jinx scoffed, her voice edged with something too sharp to be playful. "It’s just that everything you’re saying is some half-baked charlatan’s trick. Just like every other Janna-worshipping fraud. But if Sarah says you’re smart, at least I figured you’d know how to lie better."

Ahri didn’t even blink. "I don’t lie."

Something in her tone should have warned Jinx to back off. But anger—sharp, seething, insatiable—boiled under her skin, and she pressed on.

“Oh? Ha! Talkative and dumb, like all your kind. But at least make your nonsense entertaining! Let’s see, tell me, Ahri, what else do you see in my face?”

Ahri studied her, a long, assessing silence stretching between them. When she finally spoke, her voice was silk over steel.

“Pain. But I don’t need magic to see that.”

Jinx’s breath hitched.

“Shimmer in your eyes,” Ahri continued, “but that, too, is obvious.”

The air in the cabin thickened, heavy enough to choke on.

“That’s why I was surprised Sarah took you in,” Ahri mused. “She hates addicts. Because sooner or later, they bring trouble.”

A suffocating silence followed. Then—

“Now… I see something else.”

Ahri’s golden eyes gleamed, a predator catching the scent of blood.

“You should be dead.”

A chill slithered down Jinx’s spine, deep and cloying.

“You have died before, haven’t you?”

Another chill.

“Something, or someone, fractured time to save you from your hand more than once,” Ahri continued, drawing closer without Jinx even noticing. “And that explosion, the one that cost you your hand—that should have killed you, too. But the gods enjoy your ingenuity, so they let you save yourself. Janna, especially, didn’t want her gift to die with you.”

Jinx stiffened. Ahri’s words turned razor-sharp.

“You asked for a child. If you died, you took her with you.”

Jinx barely registered when the vastaya got too close. She only noticed when she felt her hand on her belly.

The shot rang out.

But Ahri was already gone. The bullet embedded itself in the wall, harmless. The witch reappeared beside Rafen, who looked equal parts terrified and furious.

“I don’t understand what they find so entertaining,” Ahri said, unbothered. “To me, you’re predictable. But the gods work in strange ways. You must have done something good, in this life or another, to earn their favor.” Her eyes flickered to Jinx’s stomach. “The child is fine, by the way—in case you’re interested. Despite everything working against you, Janna has cared for her. But even gods have limits. You should see a doctor.”

“What are you implying?” Jinx snapped, her breath ragged.

“You look sick. Not just in the head.”

“AHRI! ENOUGH! THAT WAS CRUEL!”

“THE CRAZY WOMAN IS PREGNANT?!” Rafen finally erupted, his voice a thunderclap of disbelief and fury.

“Rafen, don’t yell at me!”

“I WILL YELL ALL I WANT, SARAH! You knew, didn’t you? Who in their right mind takes in a pregnant woman?! THEY'RE WORSE THAN A PANDORA'S BOX!”

“I didn’t know she was! And what was I supposed to do? Throw her overboard? You heard Ahri! Janna would’ve drowned us all if I had!”

“Oh, so now you believe in Janna!”

“I believe in Ahri!”

Jinx barely heard them. The vastaya’s words echoed in her skull, hollow and relentless.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she whispered, leaning toward Ahri, her voice desperate. “I never asked for any of this!"

Ahri met her gaze, eerily calm.

“The gods work in mysterious ways. Maybe you asked for something, and this is how they chose to give it to you. Maybe not. Not all gifts are meant to be kept, Jinx.” Her tone was softer now, almost kind. “If you don’t want her, that’s your choice. And it will be okay.”

Jinx shuddered.

“Is it…a she?”

Ahri tilted her head, thoughtful.

“The child's soul is that of a girl. Their body... I don’t know. That’s all I can see.”

Jinx felt the air in the cabin thin, each breath a struggle. The voices around her turned into background noise, distant and irrelevant. All she could hear was Ahri’s voice, smooth and lethal as a knife to the ribs.

'The child is fine, by the way. Janna has cared for her… but even gods have limits.'

“Jinx…” Sarah reached for her arm.

She swatted her away.

She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t keep hearing this. She couldn’t—

The gunshot still rang in her ears. Ahri, with that unbearable, knowing calm, stood unmoved as if she had predicted everything down to Jinx’s last breath.

“Let her go,” the vastaya murmured.

Not that anyone needed to. Jinx was already gone.

She didn’t remember stepping off the boat or how her feet carried her through the unfamiliar harbor. She only knew she had to move, to keep moving, as if running could outpace the weight in her chest. She barely registered the biting cold of dawn, the sharp taste of panic on her tongue, the sickening void clawing at her from the inside. She hugged herself, her arms wound tight. Her hands were shaking…

The dock was deserted. The world felt foreign, unreal. The streetlights cast warped reflections on the water. The salt-heavy air burned her lungs.

It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. And yet… she felt it. In her heart, it made sense.

Her gaze drifted to the horizon.

The sky was clearing, turning a sickly, pale blue.

A new day was beginning. For everyone. For her. For the little girl.

Chapter Text

Being back in a cell felt more like home than anything had since she left the Firelights’ Tree nearly two months ago.

Cold. Familiar.

Containment suited her better than freedom ever had.

But the abyss clawing at her now was different than anything she had felt before.

Back at home—when Isha died—she hadn’t even fought when Piltover came for her. Just let them drag her off. Let them end it. If Kiramman had painted the walls with her brains, it would’ve been mercy. Like putting down a rabid dog out of its suffering.

Because that’s what she was now, right?

Broken. Useless. Unfixable. Something you bury, not mend.

For days, her voice had been a trembling ghost—desperate prayers, garbled curses, half-mad bargains whispered to any god, demon, or cosmic bastard who might be listening.

She begged. She bartered. Offered up everything—her soul, her sanity, whatever scraps were left—if it meant bringing Isha back.

No one answered. 

Or so she thought…

Because if that slippery, fox faced Vastaya Ahri was to be believed, someone had heard her…just the wrong someone.

The gods were comedians, and she was their punchline.

What else could explain it?

She hadn’t asked for this. Hadn’t sunk so deep into the void that she'd beg for this.

Not this curse.

Not this poisoned miracle.

She had wished to never be alone again —but not like this.

She wasn’t cruel.

And yet, there she was.

Chained to a future she never asked for.

No way out but down.

So why did her heart break every time she thought of ending it?

Why did some small, feral part of her ache to be selfish—just one more time—and keep it?

Why did she dare to dream, stupidly, of a future where this tiny life didn’t destroy her?

Where she—the thing that ruined everything, she touched—wouldn’t ruin her too?

Everything she loved turned to ash and blood.

Why the hell would her daughter be the exception?

She was spiraling again, fast, and ugly, into the sharp, slick dark—until a voice cut through.

Smooth. Smug. Infuriatingly familiar…

“Has the loneliness gotten so bad I’m hallucinating dead people now?”

Her head snapped up.

She knew that voice. That stupid, cocky, punchable voice.

“I swear to Janna, if you’re another ghost in my head, get in line and shut up!”

“Come into the light, Baby Blue, so you can see,” he drawled. “What happened to your hair?”

She squinted through the dim, wrinkling her nose.

“Still look better than you on your best days, Ezreal. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Well, Jinx, I’m a traveler. It makes sense I’d end up here, a sea away from our homes. You, though? First time you’ve left home, huh? Left the warm, bloody comfort of Silco’s little kingdom. Or—well—what used to be his kingdom. Sorry for your loss, by the way. That must’ve been… hard.”

“Screw you. You don’t know a damn thing about what I’ve been through. I’ve still got too many fingers to count the people who don’t give a shit.”

“I didn’t say I’m sorry for his death. I said I’m sorry you had to grieve a parent—for the third time. That’s too much for one life. For one person. I just hope you’re okay.”

“I’m here, so…”

It came out smaller than she wanted. Meek. Like something unfinished.

She didn’t know what to say—no one from home had ever offered her that before.

Condolences. Kindness.

Her body tensed. She hugged herself, bracing for the impact that didn’t come. No quip. No claws. She didn’t have the strength to throw a jab—not this time.

Lucky for her, he kept talking.

“And I don’t even want to imagine how bad things got in Zaun after that. Especially for you. Piltover wanted your head, and I ‘m certain Silco’s enemies and former minions tried to hand you over to them, didn’t they? You were never exactly… their favorite.”

“I’m no one’s favorite. But that’s where we’re alike, isn’t it?” Jinx raised an eyebrow, her smile crooked and cracked. “A friend to everyone’s a friend to no one. And you? You were that guy. Running around, cutting deals with Silco, the gangs, the Firelights…”

“I only traded with—”

“Blah blah blah. Spare me the details, golden boy. You were the only Piltie who could slide between Zaun and Piltover like it was nothing. Like they were just two neighborhoods, not two broken worlds. The only one the Firelights didn’t shoot on sight despite that. Even Ekko let you walk in, knowing you weren’t on anyone’s side.”

Ezreal didn’t argue. Just watched her spiraling with a mix of fear and entertainment.

“I always wondered why,” Jinx went on, voice low and bitter. “Why you? You were like me. Chaos magnet. Trouble in boots. Sure, a version, but it was problematic, nonetheless. But they didn’t call you a curse. They called you clever. Useful. Respected you. Sat you at their tables even knowing you’d probably rob them blind.”

Ezreal stayed silent. He didn’t have to speak. She already knew the answer…

“You were always useful,” she whispered, her voice frayed at the edges. “Even when you weren’t trying. And me? I gave everything. My whole damn life trying to matter. Trying to be something to someone. And still… I was never enough. I screwed up…”

Ezreal didn’t know what to say—not that it mattered. She didn’t give him the chance.

“You must have messed up to end up rotting in the same sewer as me.” Jinx’s grin was all teeth and malice. “I mean, not everyone sinks this low. Oh—wait! That’s right. That Noxian bitch slammed the gates shut before the fireworks started. Which means you—” She tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “How long have you been stuck here, golden boy?”

Ezreal winced, the cocky glint in his eyes flickering for a second. “I’d rather not timestamp my humiliation, thanks.”

It wasn’t often he got caught. Getting snagged stung.

“When Vander fell, I was too young to get the politics. Just knew everything in Zaun turned to ash. Silco's first years where chaos incarnates—ugly, raw. But at least there was a hand on the wheel, even if it was a bloody one. Something I learned in my time here is that a sinking ship is still better than one with no captain.”

He paused, his voice quieter now. Not softer—just tired.

“The moment word got out that Silco was dead, I burned every bridge I had left. I paid my debts, drained my stashes, and ran. First ship out, no destination, just away. Figured Zaun would chew itself raw for at least a year, and I wasn’t about to get ground up in the gears.”

Jinx leaned forward, captivated like when she made something blow up.

“I wasn’t anyone’s ally,” Ezreal went on. “So, if I’d been a liability, I’d be dead. Simple math. I kept quiet, hopped ships, and drifted through island towns. One hellhole to the next. Then I landed here. Bilgewater.”

He scoffed, bitter. “I don’t know what made me think I could last more than a night without getting mugged, gutted, or tossed in a cell. Lucky me—it was the third. Outsiders get one chance here, and mine expired months ago. Normally, they just dump you on the next ship in chains or carve you up in an alley. But me? They left here. This isn't prison. It’s the waiting room before something worse. My guess? Ransom.”

Jinx raised an eyebrow. “But aren’t you—?”

Ezreal flicked his fingers sharply, a silent shut it. To both their surprise, she obeyed. Maybe it was the flicker of something human in her—pity, maybe. She wouldn’t blow his secret. If word got out, he was just another orphan with no one to pay for his freedom, he'd be dead before dawn.

“Damn, Ez. So, if you missed the whole circus, how’d you know I was ‘dead’? Or did you just assume I got torn to shreds in the witch hunt?”

He smirked. “Are you kidding? If I had to put money on anyone surviving, it’d be you. People like us—we’re weeds. You rip us up; we grow back through the cracks. I should’ve bet. ‘Jinx fakes her death and walks away from an explosion’? No sane man would take that bet.”

“You’re not sane,” she said, lips twitching.

“Exactly.” His grin turned sharp.

“So, how’d you actually find out I’m supposed to be dead?”

“Scar,” he said. “Before I got nabbed, I called Zaun. Wanted to see who was winning the bloodbath for Silco’s seat and the shimmer trade. But they were drowning in worse problems.”

“Are you in touch with the Firelights?”

Ezreal shrugged, but his eyes were serious. “Never had friends. Still don’t. But if I had to trust anyone in Zaun not to shoot me on sight, it’d be them. They believed in something. That’s rare these days. Makes them dangerous, but... admirable.”

Jinx let out a sound—half giggle, half sob. “Careful, Ez, you're going to make me cry.”

“I left them with weapons. Supplies. Enough to make my exit less... loud. Ekko gave me a line to call back if I needed it. I only used it once. Talked to Scar. Ekko... didn’t take your death well.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ezreal opened his mouth—then froze.

A metallic clank fractured the silence, echoing down the corridor like a guillotine dropping. Rusted hinges screamed as the heavy door groaned open, carrying with it the scent of old blood and mildew.

The sheriff entered, hollow-eyed and stern.

And she followed.

Miss Fortune strode in like a storm dressed in red—eyes aflame, lips curled in scorn. She moved like the room belonged to her, like the world did, and she could burn it down just to watch the smoke curl.

Jinx flinched. A rare thing. A precious, terrifying thing. Her pulse spiked—not from thrill, but something colder. 

For the first time in too long, she was afraid. Not of pain. Not of death. But of her.

Ezreal whistled. Because, of course, he did. Jinx barely had time to hope that would be his final idiotic act before a bullet blew off his smug little face—but Sarah only laughed. The kind of laugh that didn’t warm the room but came as a warning.

“So, this is your imported trouble?” She sneered, stalking toward the cell like a queen inspecting her lesser. She slid two fingers through the bars and grabbed Ezreal’s jaw like a mother might a child. Except mothers don’t wear rings meant to gouge eyes out. “He looks like a pampered brat who’d cry if someone scuffed his boots.”

Ezreal swallowed but didn’t flinch at her words. Points for that, Jinx guessed.

“Stealing’s a hand,” Sarah murmured, voice low and soft—knife-sharp. “Insolence, though... that’s death.”

She leaned in, lips close to Ezreal’s ear. “Ezreal Lymere. Son of Aliyah and Ezir, of Piltover. Bit of a mess, isn’t it? Considering no one knows where their bodies are. Professor Lymere—your precious uncle—would be devastated if, instead of a ransom note, he received your head. Or your filthy, thieving little fingers.”

A flicker. That was all, but Jinx saw it. The crack behind Ezreal’s grin. The twitch in his jaw. Not broken. Not yet. Just... bent.

She smirked.

“What a pity,” she whispered to herself, somewhere between admiration and mourning. Part of her—an old, splintered part—longed to see him shattered. Like her. Because cursed things don’t get to be whole. Not for long. ‘I guess I CAN be cruel…”

Miss Fortune let go, eyes still burning. She turned to Jinx with that same look—the one that said I could end you without lifting a blade. And she knew that. Sarah ruled.

“They told me what happened. I want to hear it from your freakish little mouth,” she snapped. “And don’t give me any of your lies. My head’s pounding, and my patience is thinner than your chances of tricking me.”

Jinx looked down. The fun was gone. Gone like it always went—like people did. Like safety did. No matter where she went or of whom she talked to, she always screws up…

“I stole some dye,” she muttered, scratching at her scalp. “That came after, though. I shot some creep who hissed at me and grabbed my ass. Blew his hand off. In the middle of the market. I ran after that but got tired too soon. They caught me.”

She looked up. “In my defense... I've never been harassed before. Not even in Zaun. Guess I panicked. Maybe overreacted. Maybe not. I’m not sorry for what I did.”

“More like nobody dared mess with Silco’s nightmare daughter,” Ezreal said, voice light but eyes sharp. “But people shouldn’t need death threats to behave.”

He turned to Sarah, bowing his head slightly. “Apologies for earlier, Miss Fortune. I didn’t recognize you, and that’s not an excuse—but the type of company this cell keeps? Not exactly refined. Sometimes they toss in a woman, sometimes some rotgut, just to see if I’ll slip up and say something stupid.”

A smirk. Confident. Calculated. “I can pay my ransom. And if gold’s not enough, I’ll work myself into the dirt to square it. With Bilgewater. And with you.”

Sarah didn’t answer. She stared at him long enough for even Jinx to shift uncomfortably. Then, finally, she spoke—but not to him.

“Morrow. Give me what she took.”

The sheriff didn’t even blink. In Bilgewater, law didn’t bark orders—it strutted in heels and smiled like a loaded gun.

Miss Fortune took the weapon like it was something sacred, something sinful. She cradled it with a sigh, like welcoming back a piece of her soul.

“Oh, Shock, baby... Mama missed you.”

She spun it lazily. Light kissed the barrel—sharp, fleeting, dangerous. 

‘And Ekko used to feel jealous of how I treated my guns,’ Jinx thought before she could spook the silly memory out of her mind. 

Then, Miss Fortune’s face hardened, and the air went colder than the dock water.

“Next time you touch my stuff, you lose both your hands. Rafen gave the order, sure. But this one? She’s mine. And I don’t lend her out. Not for your tantrums, sweetheart. Especially not when you get caught mid-meltdown.”

Jinx tilted her head like a broken marionette, tongue out, blue hair wild, eyes laughing without making a sound. She didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. Miss Fortune stared her down with the patience of someone who could burn you alive and make it feel like a favor. Yet, and despite her clear annoyance, she still ended up ordering:

“Second—let them go. The girl’s local, her papers are clean, and you heard what happened. Or did you arrest the creep who got handsy, too? Bet his stump will be a great reminder that heads should do more thinking than hands. One less creep means one more girl walks home safe. Right, Morrow?”

The commissioner’s throat bobbed like it was trying to escape his neck.

“Y-Yes, Miss Fortune. But the boy—he—he’s not—”

“I’ll make sure he’s on the next ship out,” Sarah said sweetly. Too sweetly. “I don’t like strangers either.”

She turned to Ezreal then, all the flirt drained from her tone.

“No one here gives a damn if you’re shiny or pretty, Golden Boy,” Miss Fortune said, voice like gunpowder and velvet. “They’ll carve out your guts, loot your corpse, and use your skull for a lantern. So do me a favor and don’t tempt me into redecorating the docks with your insides.”

Her gaze cut across the two of them—ice-cold, steel-sharp. Like she’d already measured their coffins and found them boring.

“You’ll behave now, won’t you, children?”

Jinx and Ezreal nodded in sync. Not scared. Not really. I just… tuned in. Tuned into the violent rhythm she moved to. Aware she could kill them mid-sentence and probably laugh about it later. They didn’t call her Misfortune for nothing...

The trip back to the Syren was the kind of silence that screams. Jinx shifted in her seat like her skin didn’t fit right. She hated this—the not knowing, the quiet after the threat. What even was she now? A stowaway? A traitor? Deadweight?

Was she getting tossed with Ezreal? Just more junk Bilgewater didn’t want? Maybe she’d be dumped on some rotting island and left to fester.

Or worse: shipped back to Piltover or Zaun.

No. No. No. No.

She'd burn the whole damn island and the Syren before she went back there...

“Let’s welcome our new temporary tenant!” Sarah called out as they stepped on deck, her voice bright with venom. “Give him the proper greeting we reserve for rats of his kind.”

The crew descended on Ezreal like sharks that hadn’t eaten in weeks. In a blink, he was stripped to his briefs and dangling upside-down from the mast like a trophy. Jinx blinked. Then blinked again. She didn’t laugh. Didn’t scream. Didn’t move.

She just watched, too stunned to speak. 

“That’s standard protocol for pests, strays, and freeloaders,” Sarah drawled, casually inspecting Ezreal’s gear like it bored her. He was spinning gently, arms tied, blood rushing to his cocky little head. “You got special treatment because I liked you, Jinx.”

Then, low, right into Jinx’s ear:

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

Jinx felt it like a ghost touch—ice crawling up her spine. Like death had slipped a hand down her collar to say hello.

Sarah snapped her fingers. “Shut him up, or I’ll rip off that shiny arm next. You’re lucky it was me who caught you, brat. Others wouldn’t have blinked!”

Ezreal groaned in protest, upside-down and miserable, but he didn’t beg. He wouldn’t give them that satisfaction.

Jinx tilted her head, a crooked smirk tugging at her lips.

“Well. At least I didn’t get strung up like laundry,” she said. “Though, honestly, it probably was because I was useful to you, rather than likeable, wasn’t I?”

Sarah glanced at her and smiled—just enough teeth to be dangerous. Said nothing. Jinx didn’t push it, either. With a silent nod from the captain, Jinx slunk off to crash. Her bones ached. Her mind was static. She needed off.

But when she reached her bunk, the top one—her one—was already claimed.

By the fox faced Vastaya witch.

Ahri.

Jinx stood there for a second, staring up at her with a deadpan blink. 

“Did I take your bed?” Ahri’s voice barely stirred the air. “Your things were on the bottom one. I assumed it was free.”

“I thought you were staying with Sarah.”

“She’s generous,” Ahri said, her tone as smooth and untouchable as ever. “But she doesn’t even share a bed with her lovers. Pirate life makes you paranoid. One wrong move, one breath too deep in your sleep, and you’re dead. Sharing a bed? That’s a luxury Sarah doesn’t afford herself. Too easy to have your throat slit before dawn.”

She gestured calmly toward the top bunk. “Do you want the top bunk back, Jinx?” 

Jinx dropped her weight onto the lower mattress with a grunt, folding in on herself like a live wire giving up the zap.

“Keep it,” she muttered. “That one is probably already covered in fur.”

She glanced at Ahri, that infuriatingly composed expression on her foxy face. It enraged her, how calm she was after throwing her into a self-hatred spiral earlier…

“So… according to you, I asked for this?” she snapped, jabbing a finger toward her belly with a grin twisted halfway between mockery and grief. “What the hell kind of language do I speak when I beg? Because I’m damn sure I asked for Isha to live. Not to get knocked up.”

Ahri tilted her head, slow and deliberate, like a predator watching a mouse bleed out.

“The gods don’t always give you what you ask for,” she said softly, annoyingly calm. “Sometimes they give you what you need.”

Jinx let out a sharp snort and threw her head back.

“Oh, great. Another ‘the gods work in mysterious ways’ sermon. Can’t you give me something less cryptic? Like, ‘Oops, Janna was drunk and mashed the wrong button. Classic elemental fuck-up.’ It’s not your fault!”

“That last part is true: I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty. I’m sorry if I did it. But if you were right, and Janna had nothing to do with this, would it change anything?”

Jinx’s mouth opened. Closed. She blinked. Then scowled.

“Damn philosophical vixen.”

“What matters,” Ahri went on, her voice still maddeningly gentle, “isn’t how it happened. It’s what you’ll do with it. So… do you want to be a mother or not?”

The question hit like a bullet to the ribs.

Jinx didn’t answer. She just stared at the ceiling, hands twitching in her lap. Something cold and ugly coiled in her stomach. Not fear—expectation. That old feeling. Waiting for the world to collapse again.

Then the door slammed open.

“Oh, good. You’re both alive.” Sarah’s voice cut the tension like a machete. “Didn’t hear any screaming, so I assume nobody tried stabbing anyone. That’s progress.”

She strode in like the room belonged to her. Technically, it did.

“I forgot to mention you’d be sharing a room with Ahri from now on. My bad.”

“What if I had stabbed her?” Jinx shot back, feigning boredom.

“Then I’d make you clean the blood with your shirt.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Sarah sank onto the edge of the bed with a long-suffering sigh, the queen of this decaying pirate kingdom and all its messes.

“What were you two talking about?”

“Whether I want to be a mother,” Jinx said bluntly.

Sarah arched an eyebrow like she’d just heard a joke that could go either way.

“I thought you’d made your decision.”

“I did. I should get rid of it,” Jinx said, too fast, too loud. “But I’m also a professional at self-sabotage, so let’s walk through the disaster together. You two have better judgment.”

Sarah smirked. “Go ahead. Let’s hear you out, bluebird.”

Jinx took a shaky breath and started counting off on trembling fingers.

“Against: I’m unstable. I attract disaster everywhere I go, no matter what I do or do not do. I have no money, no home, and no one. And... the father is Ekko.”

Sarah’s expression tightened.

“And that’s... bad?”

“He’s too good. The kind of boy who builds futures, not... chaos. I’d ruin him. And he thinks I’m dead. I can’t just crawl out of the grave with a baby and a guilt trip. That’s not love. That’s cruelty. I don’t want to be cruel to him ever again….”

There was silence for a beat too long.

“And the pros?” Ahri asked.

Jinx hesitated. When she spoke, her voice was a whisper, shaky but sincere.

“Before everything fell apart, I wanted this. Stupid, right? But I did. I thought... maybe I could make something good. Something whole. Break the pattern, the damn cycle.”

She took a breath before adding, “And the father is Ekko.”

Sarah gave her a look. Half-smile. Half-sorrow.

“Guess that one is on both lists.”

“It is,” Jinx whispered. “Because it’s both. It’s everything I want and everything I’m terrified of.”

Then Sarah asked the only question that mattered, the same one Ahri had asked—but from her, it hit different. Like a shot across the bow.

“Do you want to be a mother or not?”

Jinx didn’t answer. Not right away. She knew the answer—had known it for a while—but dragging it out of her mouth felt like trying to cough up glass. Sarah noticed. Of course, she did. She ran a hand through that flawless red hair like she was debating whether to push or back off. Then she sighed, sharp and frustrated.

“If it’s the baby you’re worried about, we could go back to Zaun. Piltover has the tech, the medicine, and—”

Jinx shot her a look like she’d just suggested jumping into a vat of acid.

“No.”

One word: deadly. Final.

Sarah leaned in, reading her face. No, there was no convincing her—not even if it was the smart move, the safe move. Korrigan had made it sound so logical: high-risk pregnancy, too young, unstable circumstances. 

But logic was a line Jinx didn’t walk. Not now. Maybe never again. And the fear of facing up to her past would always haunt her…

Then came Ahri’s voice—quiet, distant, like a soft breeze through a graveyard.

“If it’s raising her in a war zone that scares you… We could go to Ionia. My home. It’s peaceful there. If you come with me, both of you will be safe.”

Jinx blinked like she’d just been offered a cage made of flower petals.

“You want me to run away to a monk land and sip tea with butterflies?”

Ahri didn’t even flinch. That eerie calm of hers was bulletproof.

“I want you to know you have options for a safe space. You don’t have to do this alone. Even if you stay. If you’re part of the Syren, Sarah will burn the world before letting anything touch you. That’s why they follow her. She protects what’s hers...”

Sarah smirked, all heat and swagger.

“Even if you stop being part of the crew—if I’m in charge, no one will lay a finger on you. Promise.”

Jinx dropped her gaze and twisted a strand of electric-blue hair around her fingers, tighter and tighter, like she could braid her panic into something manageable…

“If you want the baby, nothing else matters. Everything else is fixable. Money, homes, mental breakdowns. Hell, humanity wandered for centuries before we even thought about building fences and settling down: if you raise your kid as a nomad, a nomad it will be. And there are doctors for hearts and minds, even the broken ones: you don’t have to stay unstable. Whatever you decide, just don’t do it alone. You don’t have to.”

Jinx exhaled, slow and shaking. Something inside her unclenched.

“So… I guess I’ve decided, huh?” Her voice was almost too small to hear. Then, a crooked grin. “Cool. I’m going to be a mom. And you two are officially accomplices. Hope you’re proud of yourselves.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Sarah said, shrugging like she hadn’t just been roped into something monumental...out of her control.

“It takes a village,” Ahri murmured. “And your child will have the strangest one in Runeterra.”

“The best of the worst places,” Sarah added with a wink, earning a pointed glare from Ahri and a snort from Jinx.

“Hey—Ionia is a good place.”

Jinx shook her head and laughed—really laughed. No venom. No sharp edges. Just… warmth.

“She already has more going for her than I ever did. Her life won’t be mine. Not even close. And nothing’s going to matter more than her… or him.”

She hugged herself, hands over her belly, cradling the invisible, stubborn little thing inside her. A speck. A heartbeat. A reason.

“We’ll be okay.”

And for the first time in forever, Jinx believed it. Like, truly believed it.

That was nothing short of a miracle.

Chapter Text

Ezreal had danced with death across every cursed inch of Runeterra—and always walked away grinning. He’d robbed forgotten tombs blind, mocked ancient gods to their faces, and sidestepped dooms that would’ve had legendary heroes sobbing. A couple of Bilgerats weren’t going to break his winning streak.

His best weapon? The unexpected. That—and the kind of arcane firepower that could vaporize regrets.

So yeah, he let them catch him. Barely fought back. No real treasure on him, anyway. All he needed was one perfect, beautifully chaotic moment. And when the last sailor’s boots vanished through the hatch, he struck.

His gauntlet screamed with power, shattering the restraints like brittle glass. He flexed his fingers, smirking like a kid who’d just stolen candy from a god.

Too easy…

He sprang into motion with the confidence of someone who’d dodged death traps before breakfast. Magic pulsed at his heels as he vaulted for the railing—

BANG!

The shot punched through the air and straight into his golden arm. Not some soulless prosthetic—this was alchemy and agony fused into flesh. And it bled.

Pain tore through him like wildfire. Ezreal screamed—sharp, raw—and crashed hard onto the deck. Bones cracked. The world was smeared into noise and light. He barely registered the shadow stepping over him, boots clicking with precision.

Then everything went black…

Ezreal came to with a pounding in his skull and a wildfire tearing through his arm. He groaned. Everything hurt — like he'd been fed through an industrial grinder and spit out the other end for fun.

His vision swam, a mess of color and motion, until the room came into blurry focus. No iron bars. No deck. Just a dim, swaying chamber reeking of salt, metal, and antiseptic. The ship rocked like it was drunk — or maybe that was just him.

"It's about time, Golden Boy."

The voice sliced through the fog in his head — smooth, smug, and female.

He turned his head, groaning at the effort. And there she was. Leaning against the wall like she owned the damn ocean — which, technically, she kind of did. Sarah Fortune. No fancy coat. No gleaming pistols. Just leather and attitude, like she’d been doing dirty work herself — like she’d personally dragged his sorry body off the battlefield.

“What the hell…” he muttered, trying to sit up — and instantly regretted it. A searing pain flared in his arm, and something heavy kept him pinned.

He looked down. His golden gauntlet was swathed in clean white bandages.

“I wasn’t trying to kill you,” she said, almost teasing. “Korrigan patched you up. Took some effort. It would’ve been a waste to let a piece like you rot.”

Ezreal clicked his tongue. “Wow. I’m touched. Do you like me that much, Missy?”

She didn’t bite.

“Your arm’s a mess. But I’ve got people who can fix it: Jinx and Ahri.” 

Ezreal barked out a laugh, equal parts disbelief, and dread. “Jinx? Do you want Jinx to fix something? She can barely go five minutes without blowing up a bakery or rewiring a toaster into a grenade.”

“She’s a genius,” Sarah said flatly. No humor, no room for argument. “And Ahri knows the kind of magic tangled through that gauntlet of yours. Together, they can rebuild it.”

Ezreal’s smirk faltered. His stomach coiled. He didn’t like where this was headed.

“So... what’s the price?” he asked, already bracing for impact.

Sarah smiled. All teeth. No warmth.

“Information. On Ekko. From Zaun.”

His whole body tensed.

“Ekko?” he echoed, voice low, tight with suspicion. “Why the hell do you care about him?”

Sarah didn’t answer. Just watched him. Waiting.

Ezreal ran his tongue across his teeth, weighing outcomes. He could refuse—sure. But with his arm mangled and magic leaking like a cracked pipe, escape was a fantasy. And part of him… was curious.

Why did the Queen of Bilgewater give a damn about the Firelights’ ghost leader?

“I don’t know much,” he said, leaning back with a dramatic sigh. “He’s young. But in a short time, he’s done more for Zaun than most of its saints and tyrants combined. Back when Silco ran the show, Ekko was his biggest migraine. Not after power, not territory—just wanted to burn Shimmer off the map. And he pushed back. Hard.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed.

“And?”

Ezreal tilted his head. “Didn’t know him personally. He was quiet. Smart. Ghostlike. The streets said he grew up with Vander’s litter—Zaun’s old backbone—under the roof of some antiques dealer. Silco killed them all. Everyone thought he died too. But those who knew how the game was played… they saw through the masks. Firelights never showed faces. His was an owl.”

Ezreal studied her.

“Now you tell me—why Ekko?”

Sarah looked away. Debating. Then, with surgical calm, she dropped it:

“Do you know anything about his relationship with Jinx?”

Ezreal felt the air shift.

“No,” he said honestly. “But one of his men once told me her death... shattered him.”

For the first time, Sarah reacted. Not with shock. Something worse.

Purpose.

“Perfect,” she said, eyes gleaming with something dangerous. “I have another mission for you.”

Ezreal groaned.

“Of course, you do.”

Sarah ignored the sarcasm.

“When we dump you in Piltover, you’re going to give Ekko a message: Jinx is alive. And she’s carrying his child.”

Ezreal blinked. The world stopped spinning.

“Wait. What?” He laughed, high and nervous. “No, no. That’s insane. She was climbing flagpoles a few hours ago and throwing punches in jail last week. That’s not—she can’t be—”

Sarah shrugged. “Tell him anyway. He’ll know if it’s impossible.”

Ezreal dragged a hand through his hair, mind racing.

“This is a terrible idea. If she faked her death, she did it for a reason. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she’s—how do I put this nicely? —fucking unhinged. If she finds out I talked... I’m dead. If I’m lucky, just dead.”

“Maybe,” Sarah mused. “Or maybe she spares you. Like last time.”

Ezreal’s jaw clenched.

Damn her. She was right.

Jinx had been the only one who bothered to climb up to the place where they’d hung him like meat. Gave him food. Talked to him. It wasn’t mercy—she didn’t do mercy—but it meant something. 

And betraying her now would be biting the hand that fed him. But not betraying her? That meant siding with the blade already pressed to his throat.

“Me, on the other hand… I’m more consistent. You do what I say, or you die.” 

“I don’t like the plan,” he muttered. 

“I don’t care,” she said. 

Ezreal stared at her, frustration rippling beneath resignation. 

“Fine,” he said. “You’ve got a deal, Captain. May I go now?”

And just like that, Ezreal knew—he’d signed something worse than a death warrant. He’d signed away control.

Miss Fortune—no, Sarah—tossed him a spare bunk on the Syren like it was peace offering for their trade. When the cabin door creaked shut behind him, silence settled like ash. She let the mask slip. A slow, tired sigh dragged from her lungs as she leaned against the table, her spine bowed by choices too heavy to carry.

From the shadows of his office, Korrigan stepped out, arms crossed, face carved from stone.

“Do you even know what you’ve done?”

His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut sharp. Cold. Surgical.

“She trusted you, Sarah. You broke that.”

Sarah didn’t flinch. Her voice was gravel, rough with wear and salt.

“Jinx is cracked in places that won’t heal in just nine months. She’s a live wire, all teeth and instinct, ready to burn herself down for the hell of it. That girl swan-dives into chaos like it’s a warm bath.”

She walked over to the table, her fingers dragging along the grain like she was tracing old ghosts.

“You said it yourself—pregnancy in someone like her doesn’t end well. Not usually. Not even under perfect conditions. And this?” She let out a dry, mirthless laugh. “This is Bilgewater.”

Two knocks. Solid. The sailor’s pact with fate: a way to spook jinxes and misfortunes.

“If she dies giving birth, that kid would be alone. I’ll raise them—of course I will—but we both know that’s not a story that ends clean. But—if—we get lucky with this leap of faith? What if that Ekko kid is half the man everyone tells me he is? That baby would get to have both parents in their life. And Jinx loves him, Izar. And misses him. She's bleeding from it.”

She looked up, eyes shining with something that wasn’t tears. Not quite.

“Maybe she just needed a push back to him. Back to her family.”

Korrigan’s face darkened. Iron in his voice now.

“A push?” he echoed. “No. You didn’t push her—you lit a match and tossed it into a powder keg, hoping the explosion made a rainbow.”

He moved closer, his presence swelling like a storm front.

“And don’t think I missed it. You used my name. My title. Twisted my authority as a doctor under your goddamn heel. You broke my trust and my oath to keep my patients' information private. That isn’t just crossing a line—it’s burning the whole map.”

His voice cracked, just a little. “What you did was wrong, Sarah. It doesn’t matter how right it felt. You crowned yourself guardian of a child that’s not even born yet, of a woman that didn’t ask you to do any of this. And if this falls apart—gods forbid it—you go down with it.”

Silence. Just the soft creaking of old wood and the whisper of the sea.

Sarah stared at him, and for once, the pirate queen wasn’t wearing a smirk.

“I know,” she said. Quiet. Too quiet.

“I didn’t mean to drag you into this. That part... that’s on me. I’m sorry, Izar. Really.”

She turned, fingers threading through her red curls like she could rake the chaos out of her skull.

“But I did what I had to. If I thought, for even a second, that calling him was the wrong move, I’d have stayed silent. You know me—I’m motherhood, children… I respect them, but they terrify me. I’m terrified for Jinx. But this kid... this baby...I care for them just as I care for Jinx. They deserve their best chance, and Piltover’s got tech, clean water, specialized doctors—everything we don’t. She might hate it, but even wild things kneel for their cubs’ sake. She has a greater chance to give them a good life there than here, and you know it. I hate to admit it, but I must...”

She turned back, eyes bright, voice steel.

“If Ekko convinces her to leave, to go back, to raise that child where her sister can hold her if anything goes wrong, and her man can fight for something bigger than them both—then maybe that kid gets a future. One not soaked in blood and gunpowder, full of instability. Jinx made that baby, but it’s not hers alone to suffer through on her own. Ekko helped to make that life. Both should be willing to give everything, do anything for that child…”

She breathed. Just once.

“And if he doesn’t?” Her voice dropped. Dark. Dangerous. “Then we go with our current plan. I’ll be the fiercest goddamn pirate godmother this world has ever seen. And I’ll help Jinx raise that child into something the sea sings about. With Ahri, the three of them will make sure they don’t notice a father’s absence…”

The quiet hung thick. Then—

“Since when do you even listen to me?” he muttered.

A grin, soft and sharp all at once.

“Since always, Doc. I just pretend not to.”

And before he could protest, she pulled him into a hug. He stiffened, instinctively, like a man caught off guard by warmth. But after a beat, he returned it. Quiet. Firm. Human.

“Will you forgive me?” she asked, her voice muffled against his coat. 

“Only if you forgive me for yelling, Captain.”

She pulled back, brushing off her shoulders like she was flicking ghosts into the wind.

“If that rattled me, you should see me and Rafen going at it over weapons shipments. It’s attempted murder, but with spreadsheets.”

A laugh. Almost.

“Luck’s been on my side so far, Izar. I will be fine, I promise.”

Korrigan’s gaze was grave.

“I hope it stays that way, Sarah. For all our sakes.”

(...)

If Caitlyn weren’t so lost in the void of her life, maybe she’d be ashamed—ashamed of how much her sanity clung to those fragile fragments of time with Ximena Talis. 

A woman who, if she ever found Caitlyn’s presence strange, never said a word. She just welcomed her. Always. With open arms and soft-spoken words that stitched over wounds no one else could see.

It was laughable in the cruelest way. After a childhood spent erasing every sign of weakness, she now found herself desperate clinging to someone so unfamiliar, so unlike her. Craving a place to collapse, aching for a hug she never knew how to ask for. Even though she would always be thankful for Vi, she was unable to ease the pain she had been experiencing ever since her mother's coffin closed.

And somehow, impossibly, she kept hearing echoes of her mother in this woman who couldn’t be further from Cassandra Kiramman. The thought made her sick. Guilt burned like a silent fire in her chest, dulled only by the warmth of knowing that—just for a moment, even just a little—someone out there could show her the kind of tenderness she'd begged for in silence her whole life.

To drown out that cruel voice in her head—the one that whispered she was a burden, useless, a shadow out of place—Caitlyn forced herself to be useful. To matter, even in the smallest way.

At first, Mrs. Talis resisted.

“Guests don’t lift a finger in another’s home,” she said.

But eventually, she gave in. Maybe she saw how badly Caitlyn needed something to hold onto.

A purpose. A reason to exist.

The task was simple and unbearably heavy: dig through Jayce’s things and decide what should be destroyed, buried, or erased.

For the greater good.

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions, and my son had plenty. If any of his ideas can be twisted, they must go. I should do it, but… I can’t. It hurts too much. And truth be told, I wouldn’t understand any of it. I’m sorry to ask—but I trust you. Jayce trusted you. Before Viktor, you were his little assistant. He’d want you to decide, Caitlyn.”

So, she said yes. Of course, she did.

Jayce’s old room felt suffocating. The air itself pressed in around her like grief made solid. Maybe it was just the dust. Maybe it was the ghosts.

Everything was chaos. Papers, notes, sketches—all jumbled together like puzzle pieces from different lives. Jayce. Viktor. Sky Young. Names that now existed only in memory and on paper no one wanted to read.

Her hands trembled as she flipped through them—pages filled with equations, diagrams, and frantic handwriting in the margins. This wasn’t just science. These were blueprints for change. Dreams. Hopes. Filters for Zaun’s poisoned air. Energy sources. Clean water. Real things. Important things.

Not weapons. Not control. Not Piltover’s brand of “progress.”

Ximena wanted them burned. Ashes for safety. Erased, just in case.

But Caitlyn… couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

Because this wasn’t just Jayce’s work. It was Viktor’s too. And Sky’s, for Viktor had preserved her notes just as Jayce did with his. And Jayce had protected their ideas—kept them safe like they were something sacred. He hadn’t erased their names. Hadn’t stolen the credit. He wanted them to be remembered. Preserved.

Jayce had always known how to admire others without envy. And if he thought this was worth saving…

Who was she to destroy it?

The guilt still gnawed at her ribs, but the choice was made. She couldn’t set fire to their legacy. Not when someone—anyone—might still bring it to life.

So, she gathered everything, each page handled like a relic. The prototypes were clunky and awkward, but she'd come back for them. She made sure the room looked untouched. Burned a few useless papers to fake obedience. Ximena would never know. She slipped out of the place, heart hammering. Every creak in the Talis house felt like a threat. Every shadow a warning. Maybe she was making a mistake.

But he wouldn’t stop her.

Ekko.

If anyone could read those designs, understand them, and bring them to life, it was him. Not for power. Not for glory. But for Zaun.

All she could do now was hope.

Hope that if the papers reached him through Vi, he’d say yes.

Because Zaun couldn’t afford to lose another chance for a better future…

(...)

“Why do you keep looking at me?”

“I’m watching you work. Maybe I’ll learn something. It seems like my prosthesis isn’t the only thing keeping you up at night. Going to ditch the hook? It looked good on you.”

“I don’t plan on being a pirate forever. Not exactly the ideal setting for starting a new life. And the hook sucks for handling delicate things.”

Like a baby, Ezreal thought immediately, a knot forming in his gut at the disgusting task Miss Fortune had lined up for him. What the hell was the right move now?

“Lucky for you, I’m ambidextrous. I can fix your arm with my good hand.” Jinx pointed at Ahri. “And lucky for the three of us, I’ve worked with Hextech before. Not the same as whatever magical circus she runs, but close enough that she doesn’t have to nag me every five seconds. So, if you quit whining and sit still, we’ll get this done faster. Honestly, what were you thinking, running off like that?”

“Running off? If it weren’t for you, I’d have died of dehydration.”

“What, you expected better from pirates?”

“I expected nothing, and they still found a way to disappoint me. Though you seem to be the fan favorite around here.”

“Nah. I’m just hard to replace. That’s the only reason they keep me. Trust me, outside of Fortune and Isobel, everyone else wishes I’d blow up and disappear. But I’m used to that. No one wants the bird that screams doom every time it lands.”

“I know someone who does.”

Jinx glanced at him. Didn’t bite.

“If you’re not going to speak clearly, shut up and let me work.”

“Firelight’s Owl. Ekko.” Ezreal's voice dropped. “Scar couldn’t shut up about how messed up he got mourning you when I asked about home. Where’d you two met? As far as I know, you were his enemy’s daughter. Why would he cry for you?”

“And why would I tell you?”

“And why not?” 

Ahri looked over but said nothing. Her magic pressed gently against the air like a soft wind, just enough to stir dust but not enough to knock anything over. A nudge, subtle. Ezreal took a breath. When the witch gave a small nod, he tried again.

“I just don’t get it. Someone misses you this much—and it’s mutual, right? Even I can tell. So why stay away?”

Jinx smiled. That sharp, fractured thing she wore when she didn’t want anyone peeking behind the curtain.

“If missing could kill, I’d be dust. Whatever Ekko feels about me—or Powder—it’ll fade. And he’ll be fine. He always is. He has the strength I didn’t. Everyone’s better off without me.”

“And you’re better off without them?”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

Ezreal leaned closer to the workbench. Watched her hands—precise, practiced, twitchy as ever—adjust wires and circuits like she was rewiring herself along with the prosthetic. Her face was too calm. That kind of stillness wasn’t peace. It was absence.

“Look, I’m not telling you what to do,” he said, “but if you really are a bird of ill omen, at least you’re Zaun’s bird. That’s got to count for something.”

She didn’t look up. But her grip on the tool shifted. A tiny give. Enough to know he’d touched something raw.

“Ekko’s not the only one who misses you,” Ezreal added. Testing the edge. “If your last move was fighting for Zaun, why do you think they only remember the chaos? Doesn’t add up.”

“But it does.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Why would anyone want to remember the storm I left behind?”

Ezreal clicked his tongue.

“I don’t know. Maybe the ones who saw you tear Piltover down when no one else would. Maybe the ones who thought you’d never fight for them, but you did. Maybe the ones who figured out you weren’t just some lunatics with grenades. You cared.”

Silence.

Jinx didn’t argue. She just kept working, but slower now. Hesitating in a way she never did with machines.

Ezreal pushed.

“If I had the chance to come back from the dead for the people I loved? I wouldn’t even flinch.”

“That’s easy to say when you’re not dead.”

Ezreal’s laugh came bitter, hollow.

“My parents are dead. Or missing. I don’t know. If they showed up out of nowhere? Sure, I’d have questions. Anger. But before all that? I’d be relieved. Because it’d mean they weren’t really gone.”

Jinx said nothing.

Ahri didn’t move. Didn’t need to.

Jinx’s shoulders sagged, just slightly. Not broken. Just… bone-deep exhausted.

“That’s sweet, Witcher. Really. Hope you get that fairy tale. But I’m not built for happy endings.”

Something in Ezreal’s chest twisted.

“So, you’re never coming back?”

Jinx finally looked up. Just for a second. A half-smile, all shadow.

“I’m leaving… just not to Zaun.”

Ezreal blinked.

“Where then?”

“Ionia.”

“Ionia?” His voice cracked like glass. “The land of balance and harmony and inner peace—yeah, sounds like your kind of chaos.” He ironized, but she didn’t jab back.

“Fortune’s got a friend sailing that way. I'm going to drop Ahri off. She says there are people there—quiet people, magic people—who could help me stay hidden. Help me start over. Before someone else drags me back into Zaun’s nightmares.”

Ezreal went cold. That changed everything.

If she’d planned to return, he could’ve stayed silent. Let fate play out. Let her and Ekko be attracted to each other once again, like all opposite forces did. But now?

Now only he knew the truth. And that truth had claws.

Jinx took a breath. Looked at him, really looked.

“If you want to help me—really help—do this one thing. Don’t tell anyone. Let them forget me. Let me disappear.”

Ezreal swallowed hard.

“Jinx…”

“Promise. Please. I’m not threatening you. I’m not even asking nicely. I’m begging you. Don’t let them find me.”

There was no heat in her voice. No edge. Just the weight of someone who’d already made peace with being gone. Ezreal felt it settle in his chest like a verdict.

“Okay.” His voice cracked. “I’ll keep it.”

But as Jinx turned back to her work, something in him shattered.

And for the first time in a long time, Ezreal didn’t know which side of the chaos he belonged to anymore.

Chapter Text

Ekko woke to the cold bite of air seeping through a cracked window. Someone— probably Scar or Barb —had slipped in while he was asleep, quietly tidying up the chaos he no longer bothered to face.

Guilt hit him like a punch to the chest.

He had never allowed himself to rot like this before. Never drifted this far from the boy who once built hope out of scrap metal and dreams beneath a dying tree. 

Back then, he had nothing —and yet he fought like hell for the future. 

What excuse did he have now?

He didn’t think there was any pain deep enough to justify this kind of failure.

But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many times he swore to get back up, nothing worked. Nothing mattered.

Dust-covered blueprints cluttered the tables—half-built ideas, aborted plans. Crates of supplies sat untouched in the corners of the workshop, and his efforts in Sevika’s war to burn Shimmer from Zaun had dwindled to a flicker. He started things—but he couldn’t finish them. Couldn’t care enough to see them through. Couldn’t hold a thought in his head without it bleeding into memory and cracking open again.

No one called him out. They all knew how gone he was. They all pitied him. 

Ekko was losing his mind and had no idea how to stop it. The stranger he saw in the mirror now was the kind of person he had never wished to be, someone hopeless.

With a groan that felt like it tore through his ribs, Ekko forced himself up. He had to move . Do something . Even if it was pointless. Even if it didn’t fix anything.

If not for himself, then for them . The Firelights. Fucking Zaun, for crying out loud.

It wasn’t fair to let others bleed for a wound that was his alone.

The water slammed against his skin like a punishment—icy, relentless. It stole the air from his lungs. For a moment, he thought about turning it off, crawling back into the dark, and forgetting the world existed. But he stayed. Let it hold him there, anchor him in the now, and freeze the pieces of him that still screamed her name.

He hadn’t truly showered in weeks; he just pretended. A rinse here, a splash there—enough to look alive. Enough to not scrub away the paint.

Her paint.

Jinx’s colors. Her madness. Her fingerprints still clung to his skin like bruises. Like she'd never left. Wild. Beautiful. Vicious. And now, as the last streaks of color spiraled down the drain, something inside him caved in.

He shaved in silence, hands shaking. Combed through his dreads with numb fingers, tightening the bands she’d marked with her chaos—symbols she’d scribbled on him without warning, without asking. Just like everything she ever did since they reunited, since they were kids. Since everything he had was hers by default—his tools, his time, his loyalty... his heart.

They said hair held memory. The old who still held some spiritual beliefs whispered it in back alleys and flickering corners. If that were true, he’d never cut it. Never let go. Never let her vanish completely.

He finished, barely. The mirror still showed him someone he didn’t know. Someone hollowed out and half-built it, with no light in his eyes. He didn’t look for too long…

Instead, he searched the workshop. His jacket had to be there. It had to be. It hadn’t left his side since their world had collapsed, since the tragedy that had shattered everything and shoved them onto opposite ends of a war neither of them ever wanted. The heat was brutal lately, but that didn’t matter. It wasn’t about comfort.

That jacket was one of the last things he had from Benzo’s shop. The shop had been picked clean by scavengers after the old man died—another piece of Ekko’s heart ripped out and fed to the streets. The jacket and the old pocket watch on his belt were all he had left of him.

And now... the jacket was more than a memory. It was sacred.

Because she had touched it. Defaced it. Jinxed it . Covered it in insanity—colors and spirals and incoherent symbols that only made sense to her. And somehow, now, it made sense to him, too. 

That jacket was soaked in ghosts. It was all he had left of both.

It was proof he had loved. Proof he still stood. Even if he stood cracked, bleeding from the inside out. It was proof that something had mattered enough to break him…

But it was gone.

He reached for the rack. Empty.

Something in his chest tore loose.

He turned the room inside out. Kicked over boots, flung boxes. His breath grew ragged. His heart began to race.

Gone.

Gone.

Gone.

The air turned thick, suffocating, and toxic. His mouth tasted like rust…

“Where is it?” he demanded.

Scar and Barb froze. The couple looked at each other, both worried and confused.

“What are you talking about?” Scar asked slowly.

“My jacket,” Ekko growled. “Did you take it? Did you hide it?”

Barb’s eyes narrowed, confused. “No one’s touched your stuff. Why would we?”

“Don’t fuck with me!” The words exploded from him—raw and venomous. 

Everyone woken that early in the morning froze. No one was used to him like this. Not Ekko. Not the one who kept his cool even when the world burned.

“Who took it?” His voice broke. “Who the fuck took it?!”

Silence.

Scar’s jaw tightened. Normally, he wouldn’t let anyone raise their voice at Barb—not even Ekko. But this was different. This was desperation dressed as fury.

“You’re not thinking straight,” Scar said. “No one’s lying to you.”

Ekko’s fists trembled. The scent of burnt oil and hot metal filled his nose. But beneath it, something heavier. Something that clung to his lungs like ash.

It wasn’t just a jacket.

It was Benzo . It was Jinx . It was everything.

Barb’s voice came soft, almost afraid. “Maybe… It got put in the clothes to donate. I don’t know how. But that’s the only place I can think of.”

Something ruptured inside him. Like he’d taken a blade to the gut.

The donation piles.

They’d thrown her memory away like trash. Something extra. Something no one needed. Something someone else could use.

The last piece of them—of her —reduced to spare fabric.

His world bled red.

He didn’t say a word. Just turned and ran. Heavy footsteps echoed through metal corridors. Scar called after him.

“Ekko!”

Too late. He was already gone.

Barb let out a breath. “Shit…”

Scar rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the empty doorway.

It wasn’t the rage that shook him.

It was the void.

He’d seen it before. That same dead look in the eyes of people detoxing from Shimmer. That point where the body’s still breathing, but the soul’s already dragging its feet behind it.

He could feel what was coming.

“He’s going to do something reckless.”

Barb didn’t flinch. “When doesn’t he? At least he’s moving. Acting. It’s better than that stillness.”

Scar wasn’t convinced. Not this time.

“Should we go after him?” he asked, though he sounded like he already knew the answer. “If he’s about to start a fight with some homeless guy over a jacket, someone should probably stop him.”

Barb looked down. “It’s not about the jacket.”

“No,” Scar murmured. “It’s about her.”

Barb nodded slowly. “And if he fights for it, let him. Maybe it’s the one selfish thing he needs to survive this. Time will heal him; we just need to be patient. Make sure the Firelights are still standing for when he is ready to come back to us…”

Scar didn’t answer. But his gut twisted.

This wasn’t just another outburst.

This was Ekko unraveling.

And the pieces were starting to fall…

(...)

“An airship? That was your grand escape plan? Sounds a bit too ambitious, don’t you think?”

“You’re not the only ambitious girl aboard the Syren, Captain.”

Jinx’s grin twisted as she spoke, jagged and daring. “And I would have done it. If it weren’t for the fact that building it was already slow as hell, and with just one hand, twice as slow. Every extra day in Zaun upped my chances of being caught. I’m good at hiding, but the Firelights would've noticed their gear vanishing piece by piece. Eventually, they’d have found me, bleeding into the shadows. What I managed to smuggle out is thanks to them, in a way.”

“Including that jacket you’re so protective of?” Ahri asked, her tone flat, unnervingly serene.

“I grabbed it once by accident and nearly got decked.”

She handed the worn notebook back to Jinx, her fingers brushing its stained, chaotic edges. That mind... shattered, yet sharp. Like broken glass arranged into something almost beautiful. For a second, Jinx’s eyes darkened with something like shame—something she didn’t let out often.

“At least she didn’t pull a gun on you,” Sarah said with a smirk. Then, still light, still breezy:

“If you miss the Owl that bad, come with me to Demacia. We’ll swing by Piltover and drop off Ezreal; you know the drill. In your condition, no one’s going to yell at you—well, not too loudly, anyway. If I were you, I’d take the ride.”

“But you’re not me.”

Jinx’s voice was steady, the blade beneath it dulled but still sharp.

“Back to the airship: stealing one was on the table. But what if they’d tracked it? That’s a trail I couldn’t afford to leave behind. I waited for the ports to open instead. Planned to take the first boat out. And, well—hello, The Syren. Bilgewater’s a bit too close to home, sure, but... it’s something. Honestly? Could be worse.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“Where are we going, Sarah?”

Ahri’s question came quietly, ears twitching. Calm on the surface but pressing underneath. Jinx leaned in too, curiosity lighting her up like a match.

“Where else? To my place. Serpent Isles.”

Sarah steered without looking back. “You’ll need a roof while I’m gone. You,” she nodded at Ahri, “until your ship sails for Ionia. And Jinx, until you find your corner of this chaos. It’s not big, but we’ll squeeze in. Two and a half humans, give or take. It’s safer than the docks, anyway.”

She paused, then shifted into her captain voice—low and decisive.

“Don’t obsess over settling just yet. Focus on getting a Terran job, something that lets you save. Stick to Izar’s orders. Go to your checkups with Doctor Goode. It’s not Piltover; it’s rougher here. They’ll need to monitor you more often to make sure everything is going well. But keep it low-profile. You’re new—no enemies yet—but weakness here is currency. And people here spend it fast.”

“That’s not enough to scare me off, Fortune. It’d be the same back in Zaun. Sooner or later.”

“They’re not threats,” Rafen cut in, voice dry as gunpowder. “They’re facts. And you’d do well to listen. Weakness gets chewed up out here.”

“Anyone who dares will die. Being pregnant didn’t make me suddenly useless.”

Jinx smiled. No humor. Just teeth and certainty.

“I get your point. I do . But what you still don’t seem to get is what I’m willing to do to protect us. Me and the little grape . We’ll be fine, even if you're gone. I swear.”

Sarah blinked. Something cracked in her—just a little. Maybe it was the way Jinx told us so certainly: it was nice to see her more grounded and determined in something good. She smiled. Not her usual smirk. Something softer, touched by her words.

“I’ve got a gift for you and the little grape back at the house. Hope it’s useful.”

“A gift?”

Jinx tilted her head. Her tone teased, but her eyes didn’t lie.

“Don’t tell me this Demacia trip’s a real goodbye.”

The words were light, but the shadow behind them wasn’t. Miss Fortune had taken her in, showing her kindness without asking for anything in return. That kind of person? Rare. Painfully rare. The idea of losing her— of being abandoned again —stung deeper than she’d admit. But Sarah knew it anyway and comforted her.

“Not a chance. Bilgewater’s mine. The gods would have to gut me to get me out. As long as I live, I’ll always come back.”

“Good to know.”

(…)

“I don’t get all of it,” Vi muttered, eyes skimming the blueprints, “but it sounds… legit. Complicated. Sevika’s going to hate it. But if Ekko’s behind it... Well, we have to see if he even wants in. If he does, it’ll feel more real. More Zaun. Because let’s be honest—Sky and Viktor haven’t lived down there in years. Piltover warped them. They forgot what’s doable back home and what’s just shiny dream-talk. I still remember when they called them the geniuses of Zaun. Powder and Ekko used to say they’d outdo them someday. But in the end, wasn’t it Jayce and Viktor who built stuff together?”

“Yes,” Caitlyn nodded. “They were inseparable. But Sky mattered to them too—they kept her tech hidden for a reason. And that’s why it has to be Ekko, Vi. Piltover has plenty of geniuses, but none who’ll do this for Zaun’s sake. No pride, no glory, just hope. Only Ekko. But I don’t have a way to reach him. And even if I did, he probably wouldn’t want to see me. I need you to talk to him. I know things haven’t been easy lately, but he’s the only real shot we’ve got. You know that, right?”

“I want to believe that.” Vi leaned back, exhaling. “Thing is, Cupcake, I don’t know how to find the Firelights anymore. The last time I saw them, they blindfolded me. Ekko still thinks I’m untrustworthy. So yeah, keep those papers locked up. If I run into him, I’ll talk. If he’s in, I’ll grab the stuff or figure out a drop. But I’m not hauling sensitive plans around Zaun, hoping fate’s on our side. That’s how people get stabbed.”

The sound of the door snapped their focus. Tobias Kiramman strode into the room, his face tight with urgency. He barely acknowledged Vi before turning to Caitlyn.

“Mrs. Holloran has gone into premature labor. I don’t know how long it’ll take. I might not make it back before my shift. Be careful, sweetheart. I’ll see you later. C.C.”

He kissed her cheek and vanished, coat trailing behind him like a second thought. Vi, pretending to be invested in a document about air-filtering yellow flowers, glanced up. She caught the faint pink rising in Caitlyn’s cheeks and smiled.

“C.C.?”

Caitlyn sighed. “You were bound to find out eventually. My middle name is Cassandra.”

“ Caitlyn Cassandra Kiramman ?” Vi chuckled. “All this time, and I just find out you’ve got a middle name? I’m the worst girlfriend.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. Only my parents and the government know. I’ve always just been Caitlyn. Two names feel like too much for one person.”

Vi leaned forward. “Your dad looks dead on his feet half the time. Can’t blame him—being a doctor and all. The last time I was close to a birth, I was in a prison cell. Didn’t end well. I hope this one goes better. Is it always like this—him running off?”

Caitlyn shook her head. “He’s different from most ob-gyns in Piltover. He believes in letting women choose how to give birth even if it doesn't suit him, unless it's an emergency, of course. But that means he has to be there every time a baby decides it’s time, especially in emergencies. He told me once that a woman in Zaun read his fortune when he was a med student. She said he’d be surrounded by women his whole life. Turns out she was right— first sisters, then patients, a wife, sisters-in-law, an only daughter... and now, a daughter-in-law.”

Vi smirked. “I think he was very lucky.”

“He always claims to think the same. You’re just Violet, love, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. In Zaun, we don’t do surnames... not yet . From what I picked up during one of Sevika’s drunk rants, that might change. I’ll have to pick one or get stuck with ‘Lane,’ like the rest of the orphans. Violet Lane. It doesn’t sound half bad, does it?”

No better than Violet Kiramman, Caitlyn thought, but she bit down on the urge to say it out loud. Objectively, it was way too early to even think like that— even if she wasn’t saying it for herself —and kind of arrogant to assume Vi would ever take her name.

“Violet Lane has a ring to it,” she said instead, then added with a small, crooked smile, “but it’d be odd, wouldn’t it? Someone with two parents taking the orphans’ name.”

Vi’s laugh was quiet and dry. “Well, I’m an orphan. Been one for a while now. The Lanes are the only thing I’ve got left with blood in it. But... I don't know. We’ll see.”

There was a pause. Then, curiously asked, “Where does Kiramman even come from?”

“Means ‘honor’ in an old Ionian dialect. My ancestors migrated here and helped build Piltover from the ground up. The name stuck.” She shrugged, as if her legacy was something borrowed, not owned. “Most names here are toponyms—like Lane, from places; or patronymics, from parents; or from trades, like the Talis family—blacksmiths. Or just... whims. Pretentious ones, in my family’s case.”

Vi smirked. “I mean, ‘Honor’ is a lot , but it fits you.”

They both laughed, maybe because it was absurd to be talking about names when the world outside was fraying at the seams—but it felt right. Soft. Like a moment stolen.

“If you want,” Vi said, her voice gentler now, “I’ll try to find Ekko tomorrow, okay? Let’s both go. Might as well make the effort. In his eyes, we’re all shady anyway, but at least you can explain whatever Viktor and Sky were trying to pull better than me.”

“If you think it’s smart.”

“I do. We’re better as a team.”

They spent the rest of the day together trying to stretch out something fragile. Eventually, Vi had to leave to open The Last Drop , and Caitlyn slipped back into her world of numbers and legalese. Her family ran too many businesses and too many foundations to ignore the paperwork waiting on her desk.

‘No wonder Mom was always in a bad mood,’ Caitlyn thought, drowning in bureaucratic rot that somehow still held both of the cities together.

(...)

“You know perfectly well the only reason I stayed away from the Firelights was to protect my family. Fighting Silco directly would’ve painted targets on their backs.”

“I know. And I’ve always respected that. I still do.” Ekko’s voice was tired, worn. “But I appreciated your support then. Just like I do now. You didn’t have to let me stay here, Zeri.”

“Please,” she said, trying to smile. “You looked like a lost puppy, shaking in the rain. I’d have done it for anyone… but especially you, Ekko.”

He laughed—bitter and small. It wasn't joy. It was the sound of someone breaking inward and trying to pretend they weren’t. He hated this. Hated feeling like a ruin…

“Do you remember the night we met?” she asked. “Afterward, you told me it was your birthday.”

“Yeah. It was a shitty night. We nearly died.”

He didn’t add anything; he didn’t have to.  

They both knew who had jinxed that night with her madness.

“I remember thinking you were cute, so I asked you to dance,” Zeri said carefully. “But then I saw how she looked at us... and I regretted it. She seemed jealous. I thought she was your girlfriend. And honestly, I was scared. That kind of fire? That kind of madness? It wasn’t normal, and I was right about that assumption. Any charm you had died that night—and even more when I realized you were younger than me. But still... I always wondered. Were you and Jinx a thing?”

A yes-or-no question. It should’ve been easy. But Ekko’s silence said otherwise.

Technically, no. They had never been together. Not then.

But Jinx had been Powder once. Powder—his best friend. His crush. The center of his childhood universe.

Even after the chaos, after the madness, Jinx’s laugh still carried Powder’s voice underneath the distortion. Cracked, yes. Shattered—but hers. Always hers. 

He would’ve recognized that laugh in a crowd of thousands.

And those eyes… those damned blue eyes . Still capable of holding galaxies and graveyards at once. They could destroy him, and he’d thank them for the privilege.

He would've burned the world just to stay lost in them a little longer.

No one mourns a stranger like that.

In every version of them—across timelines, broken paths, and shattered memories—they were always something : friends, enemies, or lovers. Orbiting each other like dying stars. Never able to break free, never truly apart.

"Technically, no. Much less a couple."

His voice cracked the lie.

"If I’d had a thing with Jinx or anyone else, I wouldn’t have danced with you, Zeri. And I doubt Jinx was ever jealous. Not one of us. Not of me."

Another half-truth.

Ekko wasn’t arrogant enough to believe Jinx had thought of him in years. But Powder had. Powder had loved him in the only way a scared, broken child could: possessively. Fiercely.

She barely tolerated sharing him with her siblings. With anyone.

And Ekko— who had once looked at her with wide-eyed, sandbox love —found it charming back then. Sweet, even. A minor inconvenience dipped in honey.

He used to think her obsession was just fear of being forgotten, replaced, or left behind. 

He used to think it wasn't love, or at least not the kind of love he felt for her…

But now…

Now, he wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

Jinx— fractured, furious, twisted Jinx —had been jealous of herself when he talked about Powder. The one from a timeline where maybe things had gone differently…

“No, Ekko. I saw her face,” Zeri said softly. “She was jealous. And hurt. Like you’d betrayed her. That’s why she came for me that night, even though we didn’t know each other.”

She hesitated, then added, “I never thanked you for stopping her. For saving me.”

“I’d have done it for anyone…” Ekko murmured, looking away. “I’m glad at least something good came out of that night. A friendship, you know? Whatever she felt, she shouldn’t have acted like that. People got hurt because of her…”

“Including you.”

 Zeri’s eyes searched his face.

“And still, when you talk about her… there’s something in your voice. Something soft. Sad. Tell me, Ekko, what were you in the end?”

Their connection had returned so quickly. Too quickly .

In the span of a few short weeks, years of blood and betrayal were undone by stolen glances, half-smiles, and late-night silences as they stared into each other's eyes, bewitched.

Enemies became allies.

Allies became friends.

Friends… became something else.

It was terrifying how easy it felt. Like they’d never stopped fitting together. Like two puzzle pieces that had been broken just so they could lock tighter.

And then— just like that — she was gone.

“It’s complicated,” he whispered, his voice barely holding back the weight behind it.

Zeri nodded gently, respecting the tremor in his words.

“Those are the worst heartbreaks,” she said. “Want some hot chocolate with a splash of liquor? Helps when your chest feels like it’s caving in. And… you can stay the night if you want. It’s late. We always have space for someone who’s hurting.”

They’d spent the whole afternoon together—wandering collection centers, running errands, chasing pieces of a past Ekko couldn’t rebuild. Dinner with her family had brought some light, but now… Now, the night settled like ash on his shoulders.

“I should head back,” he said softly. “Didn’t mean to stay out this long. Don’t want anyone worrying.”

“Okay. Just… be careful, alright?”

Zeri’s voice was warm but touched with sadness.

“And don’t vanish. You’re good with your hands—and good people. Zaun will need both virtues. And if any of your gadgets could use an electric kick, you know where to find me.”

She smiled.

“I may not be a mad genius, but I’ve got sparks to spare.”

Ekko gave her a tired but grateful look.

“Of course, Zeri. I’ll see you soon. I promise.”

“You better, Firelight.”

The boy crept back to the tree like a shadow, hyper-aware of every echo his boots made. He didn’t check the time—he didn’t need to. The quiet, stagnant air told him it was late enough for ghosts to walk if he believed in any. 

He was glad for the silence. At least tonight, his absence hadn’t kept anyone up. Especially Scar. He’d already spent too many sleepless nights worrying about him…

But when he stepped into the workshop, the silence broke. Behind him: footsteps.

Someone had followed him.

In a breath, his fingers curled around his gun.

He didn’t hesitate. He never did anymore.

But just as he turned to aim, his mind caught up to the silhouette. The dull gold glint of an unmistakable prosthetic arm. Ezreal . That arm had cost Ekko hundreds of rounds and a dozen bruises in Zaun as he defended his only Piltie friend. Even now, it glinted like something stolen from another world. 

Relief flickered through him, but it burned out quickly, replaced by something heavier. Annoyance. Confusion. Maybe even dread. 

Ezreal shouldn’t be there. Ekko wanted to be alone…

"What the hell are you doing here?" Ekko’s voice came out raw.

Ezreal leaned against the doorframe like it was a joke. Like none of this mattered. His crooked smile made Ekko want to punch the wall, to punch his privileged face…

"You're hard to find, Ekko. And even harder to fool,” he said, tone breezy. “First time I’ve ever tracked a Firelight to its den, and it’s you. I have to say— nice place . No wonder you barely leave it."

Ekko didn’t smile. “No one’s in a position to negotiate, Ezreal.”

“I’m not here to negotiate.” Ezreal raised both hands like that would calm anything. “I know what the invasion did. To Piltover. To Zaun. I wouldn’t try to make a deal with corpses. I’m here as a messenger.”

“I don’t care what you brought. I’m not interested. Come back in the morning.”

“Yeah... I figured you’d say that,” Ezreal muttered. “But this can’t wait. Not after what I heard. About you. About her.”

Ekko’s pulse stopped.

Ezreal didn't miss a beat. “You and Jinx. Since when are you some tragic, battle-forged duo? I mean, last I checked, she was blowing up half your people. And you were ready to return the favor. Things were so bad you had to hold hands?”

"What do you care?"

Ezreal didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

"Struck a nerve, huh?"

"No."

Ekko turned his eyes toward the ruins stretching beyond them, his voice cold but cracking.

"Just stating facts. You ran. That’s the price for that: ignorance. You weren’t here when Zaun bled out in the gutters. You didn’t smell the smoke and metal and death in the alleys you used to play in. You didn’t have to command teens with rifles and dead eyes. You didn’t have to carry their silence. You didn’t bury them."

He laughed, dry and bitter.

"When Piltover started burning, you left. You, with all that power—gone. You would’ve been useful, Ezreal. Really fucking useful. Instead, you chose to be a coward. So, tell me… who the hell are you to question how we survived?"

Silence hung for a beat too long.

And then—guilt. Gnawing at the edge of Ekko’s fury. 

It wasn’t Ezreal he hated. Not really . 

He even kind of… liked him. That sharp mouth. That unbearable confidence. That freedom he had wished for himself: to be what he wanted to be, not what was needed to survive. 

But grief had teeth, and Ekko was tired of being the only one bleeding.

Tired of pretending he hadn’t been carved in half.

Because Jinx—Jinx—had been so much more than a friend or a foe.

He was exhausted—bone-deep—of being asked how he felt, like the answer might change.

Because what he hated most about those kinds of questions wasn't the question itself. It was the answer. The truth. That there had been nights he had hated her as fiercely as he had loved her. As fiercely as he still did love her, even after death.

How could he love someone who had shattered him so thoroughly?

How could he mourn someone who had taken the best of him when she left?

And still—how could he hate her when the only time he'd felt even remotely whole was with her?

With Jinx, chaos made sense. Pain felt purposeful. The world had color.

Now it was all static and smoke, and he couldn’t fake a will to keep living in it.

She was the scream in his chest. The fire in his veins. His greatest mistake, and the only thing that ever felt right in this rotting world. And now she was gone, and it felt like he would never be whole again.

He hadn’t just lost her. He’d lost the version of himself that only existed in her chaos. The one that could laugh like the world wasn’t ending made him think there was still hope, and it was worth it to keep on fighting. 

He had hated her once. Janna knew he hated her so much . Enough to want her dead, preferably by his hand.  But that hate in him had become a graveyard. And every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face there—laughing, teasing, bleeding.

How do you mourn someone who ruined you?

How do you stop loving them when they were so much about you?

He said nothing. His mouth was open, but silence spilled out.

And somehow, despite seeing him unraveling, Ezreal still dared to speak.

"I’m not great at this feelings thing, okay?"

He shifted his weight, his tone somewhere between smug and sincere.

"But even I can see it. You were wrecked. Still are. And it’s not a secret, man. It’s all over you. Her color in your hair. That look in your eyes is like half of you is stuck in a memory you can’t wake up from."

Ekko’s jaw clenched, but Ezreal didn’t stop.

"I’m saying—maybe you should just say it out loud. That you still love her. That you never stopped. Because maybe she needs to hear it now more than ever..."

Ekko turned slowly, something fragile rising like bile in his chest.

"What the hell do you mean by she needs—"

Ezreal looked at him then. For real. No smirk. No sarcasm.

Only a truth far too cruel even for the ruined world they lived in…

"Jinx is alive," he said softly. 

Scared, to be precise. He was dropping a bomb, after all. 

"And she is carrying your child."

Chapter Text

The world stopped.

There was no sound, no air, and no light.

Only Ezreal’s words, echoing like a bullet — one that didn’t just hit him once, but again and again, until there was nothing left to break.

Jinx was alive.

Ekko felt his body shut down. His brain blinked out, just for a second — a desperate, failing attempt at self-defense. But there was no shutting this off. No reboot.

His world had just been shattered by the same person who’d already reduced it to ash.

Her. Jinx.

He buckled, breath caught in his throat like a fishhook. A panic attack, maybe. But he wasn’t thinking anymore — thought was a luxury for someone with a mind. All he had was chaos, blood rushing in his ears, and his heart tripping over itself. 

He was falling, and there was nothing to catch him.

Jinx was alive.

Relief and devastation clashed inside him like rival street gangs, battling for dominance. He reached for relief like a drowning man, but even that burned.

She hadn’t died. She wasn’t gone.

The sleepless nights, the tears soaked into his pillow, the grief like rust on his bones — it had all been a lie. But that truth cut deeper than death ever could.

Because if she were alive… she had chosen to leave.

She faked her death.

She let him believe she was gone, that she’d died alone, that he hadn’t saved her.

How?

How could she do that to him? 

How could she tear him apart and vanish like they never meant anything?

Ekko clenched his jaw until it ached. His teeth ground together hard enough to crack.

And then came the next blow — the one he couldn’t even begin to process.

A child.

Their child.

His knees buckled again. His chest caved inward like a sinking tunnel. He almost laughed — almost — but the grief choked the sound before it could rise.

A baby.

His. Hers.

Theirs.

And she had taken that away, too.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t stand. He couldn’t hate her, even when he knew he needed to. Because somehow, love still burned through the wreckage, bright and cruel.

She had cursed him with it — this love — and now it refused to die.

Ezreal’s voice broke through the madness like a cracked whisper:

“Ekko…”

He didn’t look up. He just grabbed his hair with both hands and pulled, trying to ground himself, to stay tethered to a reality that made no sense anymore.

“No,” he whispered. His voice wasn’t even a voice anymore. Just a tremor. “No. No. No, no, no—”

His chest seized. His ribs felt like they were caving in.

Jinx was alive.

She was pregnant.

She had run.

She had left him with death.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to destroy something. He wanted to collapse.

“I know it’s—Miss Fortune might’ve been wrong; it’s just a theory. Maybe she—” Ezreal started, cautious and nervous.

But Ekko snapped.

“HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT AND THEN CALL IT A MISTAKE?!”

His voice shattered the room, raw and burning.

Ezreal flinched as if struck but didn’t move.

“I SPENT TWO MONTHS DYING WITHOUT HER, EZREAL! EVERY. SINGLE. FUCKING. DAY! I wonder if I hated her for leaving me like this, or if I hated myself for still loving her! I wanted to kill the part of me that kept hoping it was all a nightmare! Wishing I had died with her! AND NOW YOU TELL ME SHE’S OUT THERE?! THAT SHE’S—THAT SHE’S!”

His voice cracked open like glass. He couldn’t say it out loud. 

“AND THEN YOU—YOU DOUBT IT? YOU THINK THIS IS A GAME?! AM I A JOKE?”

His fist came down hard on the table. Tools, blueprints, and fragments of tech flew like shrapnel. Ezreal stepped back but didn’t run. His eyes filled with something between guilt and empathy.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know. It’s insane. It’s too much. But…” He raised his arm — the prosthetic one. ” Jinx fixed it. It’s hers. No one else could’ve done this. You know that. I wish I could give you more proof, but I hope this is enough.”

The golden gauntlet caught the dim light and glinted, looking unmistakably hers.

The gears. The mess of chaotic genius. 

The signature insanity of her hands, her colors, and her drawings. It was her doing.

He wanted to collapse. To sob. To run until his legs gave out.

Instead, he just stared, heart beating in his ears.

Ezreal took a slow breath. Then delivered the final blow.

“She’s leaving,” he said. “Tonight. To Ionia. A vastaya named Ahri offered her a new life — one where no one knows her name. Miss Fortune sent me to tell you to offer you a ride to where she is. But it has to be now. And we need to leave quietly.”

Ekko blinked.

A tear slipped down his cheek.

“What the fuck...?”

Ezreal nodded. “Miss Fortune’s risking a lot. But she thought you should know. Jinx won’t wait. If you want to find her again… this is it.”

It was too much.

Too much for a single heart to hold.

Too much for one night, one life, one boy still bleeding from her ghost.

Jinx was alive. She was carrying his child. She was leaving for good tonight.

And this… this was the only door left open to find her. 

He should warn the Firelights.

He should think it through.

It could be a trap. A trick. A dream.

But he didn’t care. He couldn’t. He’d gone mad for her already — lived in grief, eaten by hope. What was a little more insanity?

He swallowed the pain. Let it burn him from the inside. Let it become fuel.

“She’s still hurt,” Ezreal said softly. “She needs you.”

And that was enough reason to risk it all.

“I’m going,” Ekko said, voice hoarse, final.

Ezreal nodded.

There was pity in his eyes. And respect.

“I knew you would.”

(...)

"Why bother unpacking if you're leaving for Ionia with me soon? And more importantly, why didn’t you tell Sarah you accepted my offer? She left thinking you'd still be here when she got back. That’s why she gave you her damn house. I didn’t press because I figured your silence had a reason."

She watched Jinx, who was elbow-deep in the guts of a broken cabinet, dismantling it with the focus of a surgeon—or a mad scientist prepping her next disaster.

“I didn’t tell her because I changed my mind,” Jinx said, not looking up. Her fingers kept working, twisting out screws like they owed her money.

“I’m staying in Bilgewater. At least until she comes back. You heard those morons at the market cheering like the circus rolled into town— ‘Queen’s gone, the rats can play.’ If Rafen were here, they’d shut up really quick. But he bailed. She bailed. And neither of them cleaned up the last time they ghosted.”

She flashed a crooked smile.

"I don’t know shit about pirates, but I was raised by a crime lord. If there’s one thing I do know, it’s this: when the throne’s empty, the vermin start sharpening their knives. And I might be a lunatic, but I’m not ungrateful. Sarah has done more for me than people who owed me blood. Watching her back till she returns feels like... I don’t know. Paying off a debt.”

Ahri clicked her tongue, her arms crossing like a verdict.

“That’s a noble plan. Suicidal, too. What part of ‘low profile’ didn’t click, Jinx? You’re pregnant. Loyalty means nothing if it gets your kid hurt. And you said it yourself—you know nothing about pirates.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

“You’ve survived different. Doesn’t mean it was worse. Sarah’s going to hang you upside down if she hears you pulled something like this while she was gone.”

“Sarah promised me nine months without yelling,” Jinx sing-songed, stretching her back with a grin. Then she sighed and rolled a screw between her fingers. “I’m not out looking for fights. I just want to make sure nobody tries to steal her seat. Or Rafen’s. He’s supposedly coming back soon. We’ll be fine, Ahri. Go back home. You can leave with a clean conscience.”

But Ahri’s conscience didn’t feel clean. Not even close. 

And it wasn’t supposed to be her problem—not the girl, not her baby. But the weight in her chest said otherwise.

Rafen wasn’t the type to have Jinx’s back. He didn’t trust her. He barely tolerated her. Leaving her here—alone, chaotic, and hormonal—in his care would be a big mistake.

“Then I will stay until Sarah gets back,” Ahri said, her voice calm, silk thin. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

Jinx narrowed her eyes, head tilted like a wild dog sniffing for poison in a meal. Always expecting a catch. Always preparing to bite. 

Ahri wondered where and when she had learned that.

“If that’s your choice, whatever,” she muttered. “Just don’t expect me to owe you anything.”

“My kindness doesn’t come with strings: I offer it because I want to. And despite her walls, Sarah is the same. Around here, kindness gets you killed; that’s why she acts otherwise.”

Jinx looked away, and her voice lost its usual edge.

“Yeah. Same where I’m from,” she mumbled. “But the strongest people I knew… they were kind. Like, stupidly kind. Vander, Vi, Ekko… my mom too. I forgot her face for years, but not the way she sounded. Or the way she smelled…”

Her arms wrapped around herself without her noticing.

She remembered Vander — his hugs, heavy and safe like stone walls. Vi’s hands — the same fists that broke her nose once had brushed her cheeks so softly the day their mother died, trying to comfort her despite her own pain. And her mother... the warmth of her presence was like honey, sweetening even the worst scenarios.

Ahri said nothing, her gaze unreadable. Jinx was unraveling, and she was letting her.

“How did you remember her face?” Ahri asked after a pause.

“I found a photo,” Jinx said. “I look like her. But she was beautiful.”

She rested a hand on her belly and gave a crooked, too-sad smile.

“I hope they look like her. Boy or girl, it doesn’t matter. Just… let them take after the diamond from Zaun’s mines.”

“That’s what they called her?”

“Vander did. Said everyone was in love with her. But somehow, Dad made her his. Vander told us stories about them and the others who died in the protests, just so they wouldn’t disappear entirely…” She trailed off, then blinked like she’d just woken up. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to dump all that. Sorry if I bored you…”

Ahri shook her head. “That’s the most honest, interesting thing you’ve said in days. Vander—was he your uncle?”

“In another life, maybe. But after my parents died, he took in Vi and me. And two other kids who lost their parents in the same fire. Mylo and Claggor. We weren’t blood, but it didn’t matter. We were a family.”

Jinx’s eyes dropped to the floor. She was starting to sound like someone recounting a dream she’d half-forgotten.

“Vander wasn’t the only one who took in survivors, but he did it with heart. Benzo—his buddy—took care of Ekko. Kid of two tech-heads, Wyeth and Inna. Friends of his. So, the five of us grew up crammed between a bar and a junk shop. Greasy fingers, scraped knees, stolen candy. It was messy. Loud. Beautiful. Easily the best part of my life.”

A pause. A crack. Then:

“Even with all the dying.”

She gave a sad, sideways smile that didn’t quite touch her eyes.

“Vi read somewhere that childhood is ‘the kingdom where nobody dies.’ That’s happiness, supposedly. But that’s crap. People died all the time. Still… we were happy. Somehow.”

She didn’t get why it was coming out so easily. The words. Like something inside her had split open and started bleeding truths she hadn’t meant to say out loud. Maybe it was Ahri’s eyes—predator-still, too steady to lie to. Maybe it was the low hum of whatever magic curled through the air like smoke. Either way, it hurt.

But it was the kind of hurt that made breathing easier.

Ahri rarely pushed. She’d learned not to. But with Jinx, she hadn’t needed to break anything—just... unlatch. Just a whisper of her power, enough to make the past unclench its fists. And she didn’t regret it. The girl needed to be heard.

And Ahri? She needed to feel.

There’d been a time she fed on the dying. Harvested raw emotions in their final, feral bloom, because it was the only way to taste something real. That darkness had once made her fit right in with The Charmin’ Lady’s crew, side by side with a feral, vengeful Sarah. It was also why she didn’t flinch at Jinx’s past. You don’t flinch at someone else’s fire when you’ve walked through worse.

If anyone knew people could change—if they wanted to—it was her.

And this… this was a cleaner way of feeling. Safer. Through Jinx, she could drink the ache without cracking open the bottle. And Jinx would benefit from getting some of that pain out of her chest.

“Then Silco came. My third father.”

Jinx swallowed. Each word was a shard in her throat, felt heavier than lead.

“He was the only one who ever showed me a real kind of kindness after…all that happened. But he also taught me this: it was better to be the monster in the water than to be eaten alive.”

A dry, humorless laugh slipped out.

“The only times he let his guard down? Vander tore his face to shreds. Then I blew his brains out. He raised a crow that pecked his eyes out, and still — still — his last words were trying to soothe me.”

She blinked hard, fighting tears. Her lips moved before her voice caught up.

“He wrecked me but losing him wrecked me worse. I sparked the war he always wanted — figured I’d drown with him in the river and finally shut it all off afterwards. But I didn’t: I swam away to breathe, leaving him alone again. I couldn’t bring myself to die.”

Ahri didn’t speak. She simply pulled her in, arms around Jinx’s trembling shoulders as the sobs came, quiet at first, then jagged.

“I tried to die with my sister,” Jinx mumbled into her chest, her voice shredded and small. “Tried to tear her away from that polished little enforcer and bring her back home, back to me… But I couldn’t do it; she didn’t let me. I tried to save her—”

Her voice caught. She swallowed.

“But I couldn’t save her either.”

Ahri’s ears twitched, almost imperceptibly. She understood. Jinx wasn’t talking about Vi anymore.

She was talking about the child, the one for whom she had begged Janna.

“The only good, noble thing I ever did was fight for Zaun and die for my sister,” Jinx whispered. “But I didn’t even manage to do that right. I'm still here. Alive. And a future raven is kicking around inside me like it has no idea what kind of mother it signed up for.”

A sound came from her throat — laugh or sob, it was hard to tell. 

Somewhere between the two. Broken. Raw.

“I just hope it doesn’t end up like me. There’s better blood in its veins. Easier people to love. It could take after them. At least I didn’t drag him down with me. Maybe that’s the only truly decent thing I’ve ever done. Vi has her clean-shaven cop, and Ekko…”

Her sentence cut off like a noose around her throat.

Ahri felt the shift before it showed. 

Her magic—soft, steady, threaded through Jinx’s mind like silk—recoiled against a grief so dense it swallowed the room. Carefully, she let go of her hold. Backed off.

She forgot sometimes how easy it was for her gift to go too deep. Especially in minds already cracked and echoing. Especially in women run ragged by hormone storms, like most pregnant ladies were, or full of heartbreak and ghosts that wouldn’t shut up.

And Jinx was all of the above.

“Ekko was always better off without me. It doesn’t matter if we had weeks or just seconds to make peace; it doesn’t change years of war, years of him hating Jinx, loving her. Now he gets to keep the idea of me, the pretty version I became in the end. The one who finally did the right thing. The one who helped to save Zaun. The one who left before she ruined it all again. I spared him from loving a living wreck...”

Her fingers clutched at the curve of her belly, almost protectively.

“And I... I have this now. Her. Or him. How can I miss him if I have a piece of him?”

Ahri didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

She felt the words Jinx didn’t say. The ache she swallowed. Ekko was still the ghost she’d let haunt her—the only part of that old, broken life she wasn’t ready to burn. He was the one reason she might ever look back toward Zaun.

The love Jinx had for him was jagged and raw and far too real for something that lasted so little. But Ahri knew that kind of yearning. She’d once been adored by a boy with paint-stained hands and poems from his heart. A boy who made her feel things she’d long buried. A boy she eventually consumed—body, mind, and soul.

Different paths. Same fear.

Ahri understood too well the terror of being the danger in someone else’s story. Even if it wasn’t true, if it wasn’t real... it was real enough for Jinx.

To break the silence thickening around them, Ahri stood and calmly offered to cook.

Jinx, surprisingly compliant, curled up on the couch and flipped open Miss Fortune’s parting gift—a battered book of baby names from across Runeterra. 

“About time you stopped calling it fruit,” Sarah had teased, ruffling Jinx’s hair like she wasn’t made of glass. A last-minute trinket before the pirate had sailed to Demacia, promising to be back before the season shifted.

“I swear, none of my names are in here.”

“Yeah, no one’s naming their baby ‘Jinx.’ What was the old one?”

“Guess.”

“Give me a clue.”

“It’s an object.”

“How vague. Give me a letter, too.”

“P.”

And just like that, the world narrowed into riddles and firelight.

Later, Jinx struggled to set the table without smashing anything. When Ahri served the food, Jinx blinked at it like it was some alien experiment.

“What is this?”

Ahri gave the name. It didn’t help.

But one spoonful later, Jinx was practically inhaling the rest.

Ahri let herself smile. With how sick she’d been lately, getting her to eat was a battle. 

At least the nausea had dialed back to just the mornings…

“Pomme? Do I look like a Pomme?”

“Your sister’s name is Violet, right? Pomme means apple. Another plant.”

Jinx scrunched her nose. “Great. As long as it doesn’t mean Parasite. That would’ve been... weirdly accurate.”

Ahri laughed softly and ladled out more food.

“I give up,” she said. “You hate it anyway. Can I ask you something else?”

“If you promise to cook again tomorrow, sure. Honesty included.”

“Why’d you tell Ezreal you were coming to Ionia with me? Changed your mind or what? Because it was... oddly sincere, for you.”

“Oh, you caught me.” Jinx grinned, sharp and sly. “Told him just to mess with his head. I knew he’d blab eventually, and after what he stole, he’s not exactly welcome in Ionia anymore. Saying I’d be there was like saying, ‘Don’t bother looking for me.’ I just didn’t want to see him again. He’s trouble, and I’m trying to stay out of it.”

The irony tasted bitter on her tongue.

She used to be the one people said that about—the bomb with legs, the chaos in a girl’s skin. But now? Now she was the one warning others away from the mess.

And that felt... oddly nice.

Maybe the curse had cracked a little the moment she fled the wasteland she once called home. Maybe crossing a sea had brought her something better—people who didn’t flinch at her name and didn’t expect the worst of her. People who let her stay…

Maybe, just maybe, this tiny thing inside her was her lucky break…

(...)

Caitlyn woke up for the umpteenth time, cursing under her breath when the gray wash of dawn seeped through the curtains. Vi wasn’t at her bedside: that was why. 

It happened sometimes. Fridays were chaos at The Last Drop: patrons clinging to cheap beer and cheaper hope, numbing themselves with music, fights, and memory. 

But even on the worst nights, Vi usually found a way back to her. Or left someone in charge. Or at least called to let her know she was fine and wouldn’t be back until the morning. They didn’t sleep well without each other. It had become an unspoken rule—don’t leave me alone with my thoughts; always come back to me. But Caitlyn guessed she would have to forgive a night once or twice, or she would go insane…

She stayed still for a while longer, eyes closed, feigning sleep, until the scratching and barking outside her room turned into a storm. The second she opened the door, four overgrown dobermans stormed in, all muscle and excitement, practically knocking her over. Puppies in their minds, weapons in everyone else’s. They swarmed her, demanding affection, and she sighed—her annoyance dissolving into warmth as she dropped to her knees to pet them.

“Sorry, I overslept,” she murmured into their fur. “Let’s get this over with, yeah?”

After dressing quickly, she made her way downstairs for breakfast. The dogs waited impatiently—Vi was the only one who could match their sunrise pace without collapsing halfway through. 

"Good morning, Dad," Caitlyn muttered between yawns as she slid into the chair across from him in the dining room. He looked wrecked—the kind of exhaustion that seeps into the bones after a night shift. Even with all his prestige, with his tidy fortune and name stitched into the finest medical journals in Piltover, Tobias Kiramman still insisted on working at General Hospital. Said it was a “necessary evil.” That the good doctors were vanishing from public health, and that medicine was a universal right…

She agreed, in theory. But seeing him like this — hollow-eyed, skin grey under the dining room’s soft glow — made it feel like an old man’s crusade. She pitied him. 

"Good morning, C.C. And your girlfriend?" he asked, barely bothering to sound neutral. His voice was dry and pointed. "Strange not seeing you two attached at the hip."

The snide edge didn’t escape her. Neither did the fact that, despite having shared a roof for months now, he still couldn’t even say Vi’s name.

Caitlyn forced herself to smile. Her patience was wearing thin — sandpaper-thin — but she tried.

"It was Friday night. She's still at work."

"At a bar," he repeated, each syllable dipped in acid.

She inhaled slowly. She reminded herself—for the third time that week— ‘He’s all the family I have left. Be patient.’ It was starting to feel like a threat more than a comfort.

“Those places in Zaun —they are cesspools. Breeding grounds for Shimmer rats and thugs. It’s dangerous.”

Caitlyn’s fingers curled against her palm. Her voice was flat when it came out.

“Considering Shimmer destroyed her life, I don’t think she’ll be tempted. And let's not pretend Piltover is pure — the Shimmer is here too. The only difference is, in Zaun it was imposed. Here? We begged for it. We bought it. Who’s worse, Dad? The ones who got hooked trying to survive, or the ones who popped it recreationally in their ivory towers?”

She didn’t wait for an answer.

“You’re a doctor. You of all people should know addiction is a disease, not a moral failure.”

He stiffened. The faintest twitch in his jaw. Then:

“And you shouldn’t speak to me like that. Whatever new head-of-house fantasies you’re playing, I’m still your father. We didn’t raise you to be insolent.”

“And did you raise me to judge people by where they come from?” Her voice cracked, then sharpened. “To reduce someone to their worst assumption? Didn’t you teach me better?”

She leaned in, eyes hard.

“Vi is here,” Caitlyn said, each word a challenge. “And unless she decides otherwise, she’s staying. She’s tried to be civil, but you look at her like she’s not even human. What happened to the man who said my happiness would always come first?”

Her voice cracked, not from weakness, but from fury barely held back.

“She makes me happy, Dad.”

Tobias’s eyes dropped to his untouched toast, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low, measured, but colder than frostbite.

“Are you, Caitlyn?” he asked. “Are you happy? Because from where I’m sitting, you look hollow. Ever since she barged into your life—our lives—it’s been one disaster after another.”

He didn’t wait. The dam had broken.

“I believe she’s hurting. I believe she’s suffered. And I pity her. But don’t mistake scars for sainthood. You’ve entangled yourself with the sister of your mother’s killer. And yes, yes, I know blood doesn’t define a person. Vi isn’t Jinx. But she still mourns her. Like that… thing was ever anything more than a terrorist. A vile murderer.”

The words hit like shrapnel. Precise. Cruel. Impossible to take back. 

"Jinx didn’t kill Mom."

Caitlyn’s voice cut through the sterile air like a blade. "What she did was strike back. After years—decades—of Zaun suffocating under Piltover’s heel, she retaliated. Not out of hatred for us, the Kiramman family, but for Piltover as a whole. Mom wasn’t like the rest of the Council. We know that. She did more for Zaun than Heimerdinger ever did, and she paid the price for it. But the truth is… she was still there. Still part of the system that ignored the warning signs, the desperation, and the sickness creeping into Zaun’s lungs. She tried to fix it, and so did Mel and Jayce, but it wasn’t enough. And when the time came, she was collateral."

Her voice cracked—just a little, because it hurt to talk that way about her mom’s death, but it was the awful truth. "It wasn’t personal. But I made it personal. I took what was meant to be a tool of progress—our legacy—and turned it into a weapon. That’s on me."

She met his eyes, daring him to speak. He didn’t. So, she kept going.

"One of Jinx’s attacks was meant for that project. The Gray—she turned on us. But what happened here? It’s nothing compared to what they’ve been breathing there for years. Jinx didn’t hate us. Maybe she hated me, but not you or Mom. She hated Piltover. And still, she and Ekko convinced Zaun to fight along with us for their home, our home. For what they thought was right, even if it meant helping their enemy. Do you think Mom wouldn’t have seen that? That she wouldn’t have understood?"

The silence that followed was absolute.

Then—

The snap of movement. A blur. A hand rose.

But the slap never landed.

Caitlyn caught his wrist midair. Firm. Controlled. Her grip trembled, but not from fear.

Tobias froze.

His expression fractured—first disbelief, then shame, then something worse. Horror. Not at her. At himself. He looked like a man seeing a ghost. No… a monster.

Caitlyn had never seen him like that.

Not her father. Not the man who used to tuck her in with bedtime stories and proper diction, who waltzed with her across marble floors, who taught her how to load a rifle and speak the truth.

That man would never raise a hand to his daughter.

But this one? This one didn’t see her.

At that moment, she hadn’t been Caitlyn to his eyes.

She was Jinx.

“I…” he stammered, his voice cracked and unfamiliar. “C.C., I—”

“No,” she snapped, slicing through his apology before it could fester. Her voice was cold. Controlled. Unrecognizable—even to her. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

She stepped back, her hand finally releasing his.

“You know why I didn’t shoot your hand off?” she asked, and the question hung in the air like smoke. “Because you taught me better. You and Mom. You taught me to respect my parents. To honor them. Even when I don’t recognize them anymore.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“But if you were anyone else?”

She didn’t finish the sentence.

She didn’t need to.

The silence that followed wasn’t silence—it was suffocation.

And then came the growl. Low. Vicious.

Three of the Dobermans stood tense, fangs bared, muscles coiled like springs. They didn’t care about the bloodline. They only saw the threat and wanted to defend her.

Only Vera—old, tired Vera—stayed put. Ears drooped, gaze torn. Caught between the scent of her beloved mistress and the man who now reeked of rage.

Caitlyn sighed. 

"Okay, guys. No need to tear him apart. We are all still family, aren’t we?”

The dogs hesitated. They didn’t lower their guard—but they didn’t attack either.

She turned back to him. Her voice was quieter now, but no softer.

“I’m taking them out. They need air. I need distance.”

She wrapped the leashes around her gloved hand, heading for the door.

“Don’t wait up. Maybe I’ll go to Zaun. Might be safer there than here.”

He looked at her like she’d just pulled the trigger, and she didn’t look back.

The door clicked shut behind her—and with it, her composure.

Outside, the head of House Kiramman vanished into the dawn light with three dogs and a heart splintered in too many directions, barely able to hold back her sobbing. Inside, Tobias collapsed into himself, the remnants of a man unraveling in a house far too big for one ghost and a thousand regrets.

(...)

Despite being a terrible idea by any rational standard, The Last Drop was one of the first places to be rebuilt in Zaun.

Everyone chipped in—from half-dead gang rats to Firelights and strays with nowhere else to go. When Caitlyn asked her why, Vi only had one answer: the bar wasn’t just a bar. It was the heart of the city. 

It had been in Vander’s time, when he held the streets together with hope and liquor, and it had been in Silco’s, when everything ran on tension and fear. Zaun could live without power, without safety, without sunlight, but not without a place to drink away the horror and pretend things were okay, even for a night. 

Vi hadn’t planned to run the place. She’d just helped with repairs, like everyone else in Zaun, and didn’t think much more about it. But once the lights flickered back on and the taps flowed again, people started treating her like she owned it. 

She pushed back at first—hard—but eventually gave in. 

“Just for now,” she told herself. Until she figured out what the hell came next.

Because, theoretically, there was peace now. 

Nothing left to fight. 

No one to chase, or kill, or save.

And Vi hated that.

She’d never been good at peace. Without a battle, she was just... drifting. 

The only solid ground she had nowadays was Caitlyn. Knowing she could go home to her—that Caitlyn still wanted her around—kept her from unraveling completely.

But working at The Last Drop took its toll. The place had too many ghosts. Too many memories pressed between the walls like mold. Most days, she felt like a kid playing dress-up in Vander’s old role, pretending to have control over anything, instead of the owner of the place. She could almost see him sometimes, leaning against the back wall, watching her and Mylo try to sneak booze like idiots. Powder asking for juice in her special glass. Little Man fiddling with the jukebox. Laughter. Music. A family.

None of that would ever come back.

That was her life now: cracking forced smiles while pouring drinks for people she used to rob, surrounded by the echoes of everyone she’d loved and lost.

But the place had changed in other ways, too.

Weekdays kept the warmth of Vander’s bar—quiet talk, steady hands, and camaraderie. But weekends? Weekends were Silco’s legacy: noise, excess, and chaos. A nightclub without rules. 

Vi hated it as much as she needed it. It kept her too busy to think. Most of the time.

But when the music died and the crowd thinned out, when silence crept in like a sickness, Vi would kill the lights, lock the doors, and crawl back into the ruins of what used to be her room. She and Powder’s room. 

She hadn’t fixed it up. Why bother?

Jinx had torched the place. Renovations stopped at the main floor, and she kind of preferred it that way. All that was left was cracked stone, curling paint, and a beat-up mattress she’d dragged in off the street. But she slept better there, buried in the ashes, than she ever had in Stillwater. No complaints.

Still, some nights she woke up gasping, heart in her throat, arm reaching out for Caitlyn. Who, obviously, was never there. Cupcake was too classy to sleep on the floor like a stray dog. 

And some nights, Vi could swear she heard footsteps in the dark despite only a few people knowing how to get in. Ekko. Maybe Sevika—Silco had used the bar as a base once. Them… and Jinx. Was she losing it now? Hearing her ghost, too?

But then came the barking. Familiar. Too real.

Vi blinked through the haze of sleep and half-laughed as she heard Caitlyn’s soft, tired voice trying to hush the dogs. A sound too gentle for this place.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. Not alone. Not in Zaun.

But Vi didn’t question it. Not when seeing her felt like breathing after holding it for too long.

“Sorry if we woke you, love,” Caitlyn said, breathless, with a crooked smile. “They tracked you down and dragged me along. I think they already like you more than me.”

Vi smirked, scratching behind one of the Doberman’s ears as Caitlyn carefully descended the busted steps.

“No problem, Cupcake. But what the hell are you doing here? Not that I’m complaining, but Zaun’s a long way from those fancy parks you usually parade them around in.”

That’s when she saw it—Caitlyn’s face. Puffy eyes. Red. She’d been crying.

Vi’s stomach dropped. Whatever edge of playfulness was in her voice vanished. She stood up, gently pushing the dogs aside, and reached for her hand.

“What happened, Cait? I’m sorry I didn’t make it last night—”

“It’s not that,” Caitlyn cut in quickly. “I had a small fight with my father, that’s all.”

“Your ‘small fights’ don’t make you cry.”

“I… just woke up emotional.”

Liar. Vi saw right through her. But she didn’t press. Caitlyn would talk when she was ready.

“Want to get breakfast?” Caitlyn offered, changing the subject with a forced lightness. “You always talk about that food stand you used to go to before school. I got hungry. And the dogs could use a walk.”

Vi narrowed her eyes. Caitlyn was still in her gym clothes. No change of clothes, no overnight bag. Whatever happened, it hadn’t ended with a calm goodbye.

“You must really not want to talk about it if you're suggesting Zaunian street food, prissy princess,” Vi muttered as she grabbed a shirt.

“A little desperate, maybe,” Caitlyn admitted, her smile faltering. “But I just… I want to spend the day with you. Far from Piltover’s eyes.”

And so, they did.

Vi took her to that old food stand she used to visit with her siblings, back when Vander still made them go to school. The food was greasy and perfect, all she loved from Zaun’s food and what Caitlyn was, little by little, learning to enjoy. 

As they ate, Vi told her about her night at The Last Drop, both of them pretending not to notice the stares. Maybe it was the oddity of a Kiramman in a place like that, maybe the snarling dogs that flanked them, or maybe the strange energy between them. Whatever it was, people always watched, and they had learned not to care.

Then, just as they were paying, they saw him—Scar.

One look, and they knew something was wrong. His face was all panic.

“I was looking for you, Vi!” he gasped, stumbling up to them.

Vi stiffened. “Why? What happened? Is Ekko okay?”

“That’s the thing—I don’t know,” Scar said, voice tight. “He’s been missing since yesterday. No one’s seen him. He didn’t come back to the tree. His workshop’s untouched. It’s like he just... vanished.”

“Shit,” both women said in unison.

The words hung in the air like smoke. 

Ekko. Gone.

And if Zaun found out their Boy Savior had disappeared, the whole city would burn.

Chapter Text

“Last time we ended up like this, it didn’t end well,” Jinx joked, her grin crooked and grim.

But this time, he didn’t laugh.

They’d been messing around while working: stealing tools, hiding parts, and elbowing each other out of the way at the cluttered workbench like they were kids again. Maybe that’s why they slipped. Literally.

Ekko had been trying to snatch the screwdriver back, her fourth offense that night, when they both lost their balance and toppled onto the old mattress shoved against the wall. They’d dragged it there days ago, barely leaving the workshop lately. It was even smaller than the bed they shared in his room, but they took turns crashing on it when their bodies gave out before their minds did.

He caught himself on his hands, barely keeping his weight from crushing her. Clumsy, maybe—but always in control. Especially with her.

And of course, he remembered the last time they landed like this.

Not on a mattress, on a bridge. Not laughing, bleeding.

That look on her face burned into his memory: wide-eyed terror, haunted and helpless. That had been the last time he saw Powder’s (his Powder’s) eyes—those impossibly bright baby blues he used to memorize under starlight when they stayed up too late on rooftops, talking about impossible dreams.

Those eyes were gone.

Now, all he ever saw was a red-violet shimmer—Silco’s legacy, glowing just beneath the surface. A chemical resurrection. Ekko hated that drug. Hated what it had done to her. What it had taken from him. From both of them.

And yet, he found himself grateful for it sometimes, quietly, shamefully. Because without it, she wouldn’t be there at all. But the guilt? That never left. 

It was bone-deep, marrow-rotting.

His leg had healed like nothing had happened. Her nose, though? Still crooked.

Her eyes? Forever changed.

What more damage would he have done if he hadn’t looked down mid-fight and seen the rage-blinded monster reflected in her tears?

Lost in thought, he moved to pull away to help her sit up. But instead, Jinx hooked her legs around his hips and dragged him back down on her.

“Jinx?” he whispered, voice cracking, thoughts scattering as blood rushed south despite every desperate command to stay focused.

She was bold like that—unfiltered, raw. Always had been. 

She liked touching him, whether it was a bump of shoulders at the bench or curling against him in sleep like it was the most natural thing in the world. And him? He wasn’t exactly known for letting people in, not like that. But Powder had been the only one allowed to hug him without asking, and Jinx… Jinx made him feel like that again.

Like someone starved for touch who didn’t even realize it until it was handed to him, unprompted, undeserved.

Still—that wasn’t something he could take lightly. Especially not with her. 

“Wouldn’t you like us to replace that memory?” She murmured, her lips brushing his.

And then she kissed him.

Unlike the other times they’d kissed in recent weeks—some slow and tender, others rushed and desperate—this one was different.

This kiss was a storm.

It was passionate, all-consuming, an attempt to devour him whole. As if she could kiss away the years, the pain, and the silence between them. As if she could steal his breath and claim it for herself.

Ekko’s mind flooded with adrenaline, love, and the ache of desire. He didn’t think. Didn’t breathe. Just moved with her; let her set the pace. 

Her mouth was demanding, desperate, like she was trying to feed a years-long hunger. His lips tingled every time they pulled apart to gasp for air, and for the briefest moment, he wondered, was that normal? Or had Shimmer done something to her? To him? Whatever it was, it felt good. Too good. Dangerously good.

Not that that was news. He’d been hooked on her kisses since the very first. But now he found himself wondering—was that spark only in her lips, or would he feel it on her skin too? He burned to find out.

She laughed between kisses, breathless and wicked, clearly amused by his trembling hands—hands that hovered, careful not to rest his weight on her, no matter how badly he wanted to hold her, to touch her, as if she might vanish if he didn’t. 

“Scared, Firelight?” she teased, voice low and playful.

It emboldened him.

He never backed down from her challenges before. He wasn’t about to start now.

“Are you?” he shot back.

“Do you know who you’re talking to?” She smirked—but her fingers clutched at his shirt, at him, holding tight. Her words were bravado. Her touch was true.

Powder had always held onto him when she was scared and Vi wasn’t around. Becoming Jinx hadn’t changed that instinct. If anything, it had made it stronger.

She was just as nervous as he was. Maybe even more.

After that, words disappeared, lost in clumsy touches that grew bolder with every heartbeat. They didn’t rush, but they didn’t stop either. Every breath, every brush of skin, was a shared discovery. Despite the fire building between them, Ekko tried to stay grounded. His hands were gentle, his eyes always watching for the slightest flinch. He would stop in a second if she wanted to.

Jinx, on the other hand, was chaos incarnate—reckless, eager, and thrilled by the unknown. She kissed him. Touched him. Marked him like she couldn’t get enough, as if she’d finally found something worth believing in.

‘Possessive little minx,’ Ekko thought, grinning against her neck before returning a sharp bite with a softer love mark of his own.

They didn’t dare say it out loud, but it was clear: this was their first. And it mattered. Years of rivalry didn’t vanish overnight, and neither of them was ready to be fully vulnerable. But their bodies already spoke what their mouths still couldn’t.

They loved like they had all the time in the world.

Whispers. Giggles. Awkward stumbles.

They moved together, figuring it out as they went, as if rewriting the future with every touch. And when it was over, when the air was warm and quiet and all that was left was the sound of their breathing, Jinx was the first to break the silence.

“See?” She murmured, smug and sleepy. “Now we’ll have something way funnier to think about next time we end up like that.”

At some point, they’d switched positions. Her idea, of course. Jinx had gotten impatient with his refusal to let his full weight rest on her, and honestly? He didn’t mind being toppled by her. Not when she looked at him like that. Not when she kissed him like she owned him.

He’d kissed off most of her bubblegum-pink lipstick, and judging by the fading sting on his skin, they were probably a chaotic mess of love bites, lip gloss, and half-moon nail marks. He’d tried to keep his side of the damage minimal—just a couple of hickeys on her neck and collarbone, all easy to hide under clothes.

She didn’t offer him the same courtesy.

And he didn’t mind. Not even a little.

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, still catching his breath, fingers absentmindedly tracing the line of her spine.

“And you had way too much fun to complain,” she shot back with a smirk.

Hard to argue with that.

So, he didn’t. He just stared at her, letting the silence fill in the cracks. His hand moved instinctively slow and gentle, memorizing the curve of her waist and the rhythm of her breathing.

He didn’t ask what it meant. Didn’t dare break the moment with words that might shatter it.

But in his chest, in that space where hope had once lived, he chose to believe it hadn’t just been about desire.

Not just about the heat or the thrill or the ache they’d both been carrying.

It had been something more. Something real.

…

Ekko woke up to the violent shaking of The Maelstrom, cursing his brain for dragging him back into that dream.

As if life wasn’t already messy enough, he had to deal with the mindfuck of loving and hating Jinx at the same time—of wanting her, resenting her, and missing her. Jinx: his worst friend, best enemy, and the love of his short, chaotic life.

It made sense, though. That night—maybe one of the few that followed—had left more than a scar. It had left a heartbeat.

They were going to be parents.

…

“At least no one can take away what you danced,” Ezreal said, voice light, grin crooked like always. “You and Jinx. Who would’ve guessed, huh?”

Ekko turned, eyes like broken glass, glare sharp enough to cut the air. “Can you not? It’s none of your business.”

But of course, Lymere didn’t back off. He never did. Not even when he should.

“I wish it weren’t my business,” Ezreal laughed, thin and bitter. “My life kind of depends on this mess. I just—I mean, how do geniuses screw up this bad? Unless... you wanted a kid?”

“What do you think, Ezreal?” Ekko’s voice came out like ash. Dry. Empty.

“I think it’s none of my business,” Ezreal shot back with a shrug, “which is why I asked. But, seriously, what did you thought would happen? Condomless sex sometimes leads to—”

“Shut up! The only people who had a right to scold me for this died years ago.”

And that shut Ezreal up, killing off all noise. Outside, at least.

Inside, Ekko’s head was screaming.

What would they have said?

His real parents had been gone since he was five—ghosts with kind faces he could barely remember. Too young to imagine what their kid would become. But Benzo?

Benzo would’ve lost it.

Yelled until his lungs gave out, thrown tools across the shop, and scolded him down to his bones. And then, maybe—just maybe—he’d have pulled him into that lopsided, grease-stained hug, called him an idiot, and told him to get his act together.

Back then, when they were just reckless kids in a poisoned city, Powder had been his partner in chaos—but it was always him who got the lectures. Jinx—Powder—was untouchable. Too sharp, too soft, too broken to scold. Even when half the explosions were her idea, Ekko always took the fall.

Vander once told Benzo to come down hard on both of them. “I know my daughter. None of my kids are saints.”

But Benzo never did.

He only had one kid to raise, he’d say. One kid who burned too fast, dreamed too loud, and crashed too hard.

“Besides,” Benzo used to grumble, “you’d take the blame for your little lady anyway. You always do.”

He was the first to tease Ekko about the way he looked at her, way before Ekko even realized it himself. Maybe—maybe he’d have been happy that, after all the aching, all the hopeless years of chasing shadows, Ekko had finally gotten the girl.

Right before screwing it all up.

But even that—Benzo’s begrudging approval—would’ve come after he’d lost his mind on him. After he’d screamed about responsibility, about legacy, and about throwing away everything Ekko’s parents dreamed for him.

“Rise above,” they used to say. “Be better than what Zaun made you.”

He could almost hear it again now, rising like acid in his throat.

Vander… Vander would’ve killed him. Vi too. She still might—if she ever found out. Golden hearts on the inside, but they burned when angry. Jinx’s nose and Silco’s face were proof of that. 

And Silco? Silco would’ve gutted him and hung what was left from the bridge where they’d once fought, like he did with anyone who so much as blinked the wrong way at his little crow. 

And that’s when it hit Ekko.

He had no one left. Not really. All the adults who’d built them, broken them, loved them, and left them—they were ghosts. Ghosts with blood under their nails and names etched into gravestones or graffiti.

And all of them, without exception, would’ve agreed on one thing: that baby was a mistake.

His voice barely made it past the knot in his throat.

“Are you sure she’s pregnant?”

It sounded stupid, even to him. Like asking if the world was ending again. He hadn’t noticed anything back then—nothing weird. No signs. Barb had puked her guts out for weeks when she was carrying Scar’s kid. Sure, not everyone was the same. He wasn’t that naïve. But still… how the hell was he supposed to believe this?

Jinx had been dead for months . In his head. In his gut.

And now she wasn’t just alive, but pregnant?

“If she is…” His voice cracked. “Then she fought while pregnant.”

Ezreal nodded, and for once, the smirk was gone. “Yeah. I saw the doctor’s notes. She never said it out loud, but I figured it out. Nausea. Twitchy. Hyper-cautious, in her own... chaotic way. She even mentioned swapping her hook for a prosthetic. Something softer. You know. For delicate stuff, like baby stuff.”

“A what for what?”

“Oh, right. Guess I forgot that part.” Ezreal scratched the back of his neck. “She lost her right hand. I think it’s tied to how she faked her death. Explosion or something. She’s got short hair now, too. Real short. Shaved in places. Lilac, pink, green streaks... kind of punk.”

Ekko’s heart stopped.

‘I cut her hair like that.’

The memory punched the breath out of him. Every word Ezreal spoke carved deeper into the truth:

She was alive.

She’d lost her hand.

She’d rebuilt Ezreal’s gauntlet. She jinxed it. Like always.

And now… now she was somewhere out there. In a land that didn’t know her name. One hand down. Knocked up. All alone.

Ezreal’s voice dropped, like even he didn’t want to break the moment.

“…Shame about the hair; it must have taken years getting it that long,” he said. “But she doesn’t look bad. I mean… Jinx never could look bad, right?”

Ekko’s jaw clenched. “Shut up, Lymere.”

“Whoa. Easy, Firelight.” Ezreal held up his hands, palms open. “No one’s trying to steal your little crow. I’m just saying…”

He stepped closer, his voice soft, almost afraid to say the last part out loud.

“And for the record, she misses you. A lot.”

…

The first misstep came fast, too fast.

Miss Fortune, the supposed mastermind behind this mission, was gone.

Ezreal had said she’d orchestrated it all: the ship, the route, and the means to find Jinx. But when they reached Piltover’s edge, it wasn’t her waiting on the docks. It was Rafen. Her second-in-command. All scowls and scars, standing like the ghost of bad decisions past. And instead of the Syren, her infamous flagship, there was The Maelstrom, an older vessel with rusted plating, salt-rot in its bones, and a crew that looked like they hadn’t smiled in years.

Miss Fortune couldn’t land the Syren on Piltover soil, and the trip to Demacia was long enough that she had to sail ahead. Rafen’s ship, ancient and overlooked, had no such restrictions.

He was in charge now.

From the second he opened his mouth, Ekko hated him.

Ezreal had argued. Loudly. Not even he trusted the arrangement anymore. But Rafen made one thing clear, his voice like a knife dragged over stone:

“I leave now, with or without you. That crazy, one-handed girl, Jinx, made her choices. If she ends up a single mother, that’s her problem. If you cared, you’d have stopped her. But you didn’t. So don’t pretend now like you matter.”

That was the moment something inside Ekko snapped.

…

“How do you know about Vi?” Ekko’s voice was low. Controlled. Coiled.

Rafen didn’t flinch. “That woman was the only decent person Sarah met in Stillwater. Vi had a sister, Powder. A little genius. Grew up broken. Grew up Jinxed.” He spat the name like poison. “That connection, along with her knack for tinkering with weapons, bought her a spot on the Syren. Sarah’s bleeding heart did the rest.  But I don’t have such a thing. I won’t judge you if you walk away. Honestly? I’d respect you more. It can’t have been easy—being with her. She’s broken. A loose cannon, just like they said. And now she’s dragging you into it? Condemning a child to that life?”

Ekko’s fist collided with his face before the man could finish.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t smart. It was right.

Rafen stumbled, spitting blood and curses, his hand already reaching for his blade.

The deck exploded into movement.

One of the pirates lunged toward Ekko, but Ezreal was faster. Magic burst from his gauntlet with a blinding pulse, scattering the attackers with ricocheting force. A bolt deflected a shot midair. Another shattered a saber mid-swing. He wasn’t fighting to kill—just to keep Ekko from dying.

And Ekko?

He was a blur.

The Z-Drive saved him once again. He vanished. Reappeared. Moved through the chaos like he owned it. Bullets missed. Blades cut nothing but air. He ducked, struck, and vanished again—his body a memory and his fury a blade.

By the time the pirates regrouped, Ekko was already aboard the ship.

“I’ve solved problems more complex than a damn piece of driftwood,” he spat, voice as sharp as a rusted razor. “So, lower your weapons. Or rest assured—I’ll take my chances alone at sea.”

“I want to see you try, brat,” Rafen barked. “Catch him—”

“STOP!”

Ezreal’s voice sliced through the tension like a dagger to the gut.

Everyone froze.

“Rafen,” he said coldly, eyes gleaming with a dangerous calm, “Captain Fortune made herself very clear. If Ekko chose to go with Jinx, you were to take him to her. If not, you were to leave Piltover with no trace. No fights. No blood. No mess.”

Ezreal stepped forward, hand still crackling with power. His tone didn’t rise, but the threat was unmistakable.

“And if you disobey that order, you will be a traitor. And if I know anything about your captain, it’s that she always finds traitors. The first thing I saw in Bilgewater was their heads hanging from the docks—decorative, in a morbid kind of way. A warning.”

He let that hang in the air.

Rafen looked like he’d swallowed glass, like he wanted to shoot him, but Ezreal didn’t stop.

“Hurt Ekko, and you’ll lose more than he and Jinx ever could take from you. You’ll lose your captain’s trust and mercy. And that? That’s the only thing keeping you alive right now.”

Uneasy glances passed between the pirates. Doubt. Fear. Ezreal pressed into that.

“Besides, killing him? That’d piss off Zaun. And trust me, you do not want a city like that crawling into your nightmares. And once again, this isn’t your decision. The destination is Ionia. Jinx told me herself—she and Ahri were headed there once Miss Fortune left for Demacia. All you have to do is to not be complete trash for a few days.”

He paused.

“Think you can manage that, sailor?”

Rafen snarled. “Fine.” He spat blood. “But then you’re coming too, warlock. I don’t like loose ends. You step on this ship, or you drown.”

Ezreal stiffened. “I didn’t agree to that with your captain—”

“Ez.”

Ekko’s voice. Quiet. Wrecked. Asking.

He turned.

And Ezreal saw it—the storm behind those eyes. The grief was racking through him like broken glass. The boy who once led a city through war was barely standing under the weight of a heartbeat.

They weren’t friends, but they weren’t strangers either.

And leaving him alone now, after what he’d learned? After what was he walking into?

That would be cowardice. The Lymere family wasn’t one of cowards. And after what happened during the war against Noxus, Ezreal had to prove that to Ekko.

“…Fine,” he muttered, bitter as sea salt. “But we’re getting our bunks. We need rest. And if anyone touches my things again, I swear I’ll atomize the whole damn ship.”

He shot Rafen a death glare. The pirate only smiled with blood in his teeth.

“Welcome aboard.”

…

And that was how they ended up on a pirate ship—the most unwanted guests imaginable. Not locked in a cell like most people in their situation, but begrudgingly offered a bunk and a scrap of peace.

It wasn’t until the following morning, beneath the quiet weight of a new dawn, that the clarity finally hit: he’d left Zaun behind. 

Just like that. No warning. No note. No explanation.

And for what?  

A ghost. A memory. A maybe with a girl who had chosen death over him.

Still, he doubted anyone would miss him. Not really. 

He hadn’t done much of value in months—just wandered, haunted and hollow, letting Scar take over the heavy lifting. And Scar would keep leading, like always. Better than him, maybe. Zaun didn’t pause for anyone. Least of all him.

If there was one thing Ekko knew, it was this: no one was indispensable down there. People vanished all the time. Streets shifted. Life kept mutating and moving forward, even when it was built on the bones of the ones left behind.

So… Nothing too bad would happen if he disappeared for a while. Right?

Right?

(...)

Despite Scar’s best attempts to contain the news until he could confirm it wasn’t a false alarm, nothing traveled faster through Zaun’s veins than rumors—especially the bad kind. They slithered through vents and alleyways, twisted into whispers, multiplied like spores in the dark. Within hours, everyone knew something had gone wrong with the Firelights. And somehow, everyone knew it had to do with their leader.

Ekko was missing.

He’d vanished after the battle against Noxus and the Arcane, but until now, his absence had been just a rumor—background noise in a city used to chaos. 

That changed the moment Scar was spotted walking through the streets alongside Vi and the enforcer, Caitlyn Kiramman. That image alone was enough to ignite full-blown panic. In Zaun, you learned early: always expect the worst. It was a survival tactic. And more often than not, it was right. Everyone had their version of what had happened the day Ekko went missing, and the stories mutated with every retelling, burying the truth under a mountain of paranoid fiction.

The only ones who hadn’t completely lost it were Caitlyn and Vi, though for entirely different reasons.

“Vanishing without a trace is a myth. Everything that exists leaves evidence. If it doesn’t, it’s because someone deliberately erased it. Which only narrows our suspects.”

Caitlyn wasn’t just theorizing. This was muscle memory for her—sharp and methodical. Her first major case had been tracking down the bastard who kidnapped her parents. She’d been, what, sixteen? She’d been chasing trails ever since—Silco, Jinx… now Ekko. Even when her mother tried to clip her wings, she kept going. 

“From what I understand, the Firelights were still dismantling Silco’s leftovers,” she continued, all composure and calculation. “Which means gangs, grudges, chaos. It would be wise to inform Sevika. Like it or not, she knows how these people think—hell, she trained half of them. If anyone can squeeze the truth out of Zaun’s underbelly, it’s her: now that she is council, peace benefits her. She’ll find him. Alive.”

Vi scoffed. “You’re cute when you’re optimistic, Cupcake. But this doesn’t smell like a kidnapping to me.”

“And what does it smell like, exactly?”

“I don’t know. Smoke? Trouble? Bullshit?” Vi shrugged. “Ekko’s not just clever—he’s Zaun clever. He’s got instincts, shadows, and reflexes. People respect him. Even the ones who hate him. The few times someone did try something stupid, they paid for it. You’re telling me someone got the jump on him in his streets? Without a peep?”

“It’s not exactly airtight logic.”

“Yeah, no shit. But I know the kid. I’ve known him since he was a pint-sized menace with a slingshot, crushing on my baby sister. He’s sneaky as hell. If something happened, my gut says he made it happen.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. But the facts don’t lie, Vi. Scar says Ekko barely left the tree. Never alone. Not for this long. He always warned someone whenever he went out. He’s methodical—almost obsessively so. This? This isn’t like him.”

“Exactly.” Vi jabbed a finger toward her. “It’s so not like him that it makes more sense he did something reckless than someone magically guessing he’d break his own rules that day. That’s not a coincidence—that’s intent.”

“That’s a better argument,” Caitlyn conceded. “Still, if he did leave on purpose, we need to prove it. And according to just about everyone… the last person who saw him was her.”

Caitlyn stepped forward and knocked on the battered door of an apartment buried in the rusted bones of a crumbling tower. 

Zeri—the Spark of Zaun—was their only real lead.

But the door didn’t open for Zeri. Instead, a little girl peeked out, bright-eyed and beaming, her smile full of innocent curiosity. Vi and Caitlyn both softened, almost in sync. The last thing they wanted was to scare a kid.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Vi said, voice gentler than usual. “We’re looking for Zeri. Is she home?”

"ZERI, SOME WOMEN ARE LOOKING FOR YOU!" the girl shouted without missing a beat. Then she noticed the dogs. “They're so cute! Can I pet them?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Caitlyn chuckled. “Boys, sit. Let them sniff your hand first.”

The girl reached out, giggling when the dogs licked her hand and nudged closer for more. Vi watched the scene with fondness, eyes lingering on Caitlyn—how careful she was, how kind. She hadn’t seen her around kids before. It suited her.

“How do you know Zeri, honey?” Caitlyn asked.

“She’s my sister! Are you her friends? She’s friends with everyone in Zaun. They all stop by. But I’ve never seen you before.”

“Everyone, huh?” Vi said, crouching a bit. “Did a boy stop by yesterday? Ekko—dark skin, white hair in dreadlocks, about this tall…” 

Before the girl could answer, footsteps thudded down the hallway. Zeri appeared in the doorway, and the temperature seemed to drop. Her eyes landed on them. 

Hard. Cold. Unwelcomed.

“Orla,” she said, voice clipped, “what did I tell you about opening the door to strangers?”

The girl shrank, cringing, but didn’t run.

“You did both,” Zeri snapped. “Get over here.”

“But they said you are friends—”

Whatever flicker of patience Zeri had left burned out on the spot.

“I’m not friends with any Enforcer,” she spat, like the word was acid. Orla's eyes flicked between them, suddenly unsure. “Go wash up for dinner. Tell Mom and Dad I won’t be late.”

As soon as Orla disappeared, the air turned. Not just tense—charged. Sparks leapt off Zeri’s fingers, crawling across her skin like angry lightning. It wasn’t for show.

It felt like the whole place was holding its breath.

Vi and Caitlyn realized—too late—that “Spark of Zaun” wasn’t some cute nickname.

And they regretted showing up just as they had gone for breakfast: unarmed.

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t fry you where you stand,” Zeri growled. Her voice was low, vibrating with the hum of barely contained energy. “You. Your beasts. Your badges. Enforcers and traitors don’t belong here.”

The dogs growled low, ears pinned. Caitlyn tightened her grip on the leashes, dragging them back, trying not to escalate things.

Vi lifted her hands slowly, palms up. No sudden moves.

“We didn’t come as Enforcers or traitors,” she said. “We came because we’re worried about someone. Ekko’s gone missing. You were the last to see him.”

Zeri’s snarl faltered. For a second, she blinked like the words hadn’t made sense.

“Ekko? That’s not possible. My brother and I followed him halfway home.”

The sparks fizzled out, the tension draining from her limbs—but not from her eyes. Now there was fear behind them.

“Can we ask you a few things? Just a minute. That’s all we need,” Vi said gently.

Zeri narrowed her gaze. Distrust was still etched deep into every line of her face.

“Hands up. Both of you. No one carries a gun in this house unless they live here.”

Caitlyn scowled, opening her mouth to argue—but Vi was already complying, arms raised. There wasn’t a choice. Zeri moved in and patted her down quickly and roughly, with no apologies.

“Come in. But the dogs stay outside—we’ve got skittish cats. Want a drink? Don’t go thinking we’re all rude down here.”

“I remind you I’m from Zaun,” Vi growled. “I remember you frying Mylo and Claggor with your little ‘shock machine.’ Only there was no machine, was there? Just you.”

Zeri clicked her tongue and folded her arms. “We thought Vander’s kids were dead. We mourned you. And then—what do we get? One ends up Silco’s little psycho, and the other’s working for the very people who killed us. It was... disappointing.”

Her laugh was dry, but her face stayed stone.

“Sorry if I don’t see you as one of us anymore, Vi. But maybe I’m being unfair—after all, you did fight beside us. And Jinx... she died there. Now you’re here, looking for Ekko. That sounds more like the Vi I used to look up to.”

Vi didn’t flinch, but the words sank in like punches. Caitlyn stayed quiet, on the edge of the moment. This wasn’t hers to interrupt.

“So?” Zeri asked. “What do you want to know? What else can I tell you?”

“Everything about yesterday,” Vi said. “Start to finish. You’re the only one we’ve got.”

Zeri sighed hard, arms tight across her chest. “He wasn’t right. Ekko. Not even close.”

Vi and Caitlyn exchanged a glance.

“Not right how?” Caitlyn asked.

Zeri leaned against the table, cracking her knuckles like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

“I found him at the donation center. Digging through boxes like his life depended on it. He said he lost something—something that got mixed into the warehouse drop by mistake. I was there helping with my siblings, so I saw him right away. He looked... bad.”

“What was he looking for?” Vi asked.

“His jacket.”

“His jacket?”

“Yeah. It might sound stupid to you, Princess Kiramman, but not to him. It was his. And when you don’t have much, you guard what’s yours with your life. He looked wrecked over it. Could barely stand, like he hadn’t slept in days.”

The air thickened. Caitlyn opened her notebook, her fingers tight on the pen.

“Did you find it?”

“No. I stayed with him and brought him home after. Got him food, let him rest a bit.”

“Did he say what was wrong?”

“Not really. But it was Jinx. Whatever happened between them before she died... it crushed him. I’m not surprised. The way he looked at her when we were kids? Obvious. Turns out he never stopped loving her. He said it was complicated.”

Vi’s jaw clenched. Caitlyn noticed but didn’t comment.

"And even if he never noticed," Zeri muttered, "Jinx had been in love with him for years."

“Since when?” Vi cut in, sudden and sharp.

Caitlyn blinked. The tone was familiar, like when Jayce tried to act like her overprotective brother, but this wasn’t teasing. This was real. 

Zeri gave a crooked smile, more bitter than amused.

“Are you the jealous type, Vi?”

The question landed heavier than expected. Both women flinched, barely perceptibly—Caitlyn from guilt for her hookup with Maddie and Vi from sheer surprise at the bluntness. There was a time Zeri was just one of the many kids who looked up to her and never dared to act when she questioned them. 

Time changes things, especially when you are in prison…

“Because your sister is. She tried to kill me for dancing with Ekko once. One song, that’s all. Three years ago. I don’t even think he liked it. And she shot at me.”

Vi’s expression twisted. “She what—?”

“Relax. She missed,” Zeri muttered. “She was so hysterical, she missed. Ever since then, she's been all over my ass. Not with bullets anymore, just… sabotage. ‘Pranks.’ At my job. Real mature stuff. You wouldn’t believe how pissed I was when I still had to support her once she stopped being Silco’s little gremlin and decided to play hero for Zaun.”

Caitlyn barked out a laugh before she could stop herself—dry, shocked, and not quite amused. Vi didn’t laugh. She looked haunted.

As if she hadn’t hunted me across all of Piltover and Zaun out of jealousy for her sister, Caitlyn thought with a shiver. 

And that had been about family, unconditional love. If it had been about love…

“Anyway,” Zeri said, brushing it off, “I told him to crash at my place. He wouldn’t. He said he had to get back to the Firelights. So, my brother and I walked him halfway to the tree without him noticing. He was so out of it. Didn't even realize we were behind him.”

Vi leaned forward. “Your brother… does he know where the hideout is?”

“No,” Zeri said. “I do. Luke doesn’t. That’s why we didn’t follow him the whole way. Even if my brother’s trustworthy, Ekko would’ve lost his mind if I brought someone to the tree. So, we just stayed behind, keeping watch…”

“But he never made it. Or so that’s what Scar said.” Caitlyn ended up for her, frowning; they still were where they started.

Zeri nodded. “And I believe him. If he says he didn’t show, then he didn’t. But he was so close. Like, minutes from home. I don’t get how he could just vanish. If something had happened, we were right there. We would’ve heard. Seen. Something.”

Caitlyn shut her notebook with a hard click. She sounded clinical now—sharp edges, no warmth.

“There are three possibilities,” she said, tone flat like a coroner reading cause of death. “First: someone took him. Abduction. But you stayed nearby for a while, and nothing seemed off.”

Zeri crossed her arms. Her jaw was tight.

“Second,” Caitlyn continued, “he left. On his own. No warning. It’s out of character, but he’s legally an adult. He doesn’t owe anyone answers.”

Vi swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

“And the third?” she asked.

Caitlyn hesitated, eyes locked on the ground. Her voice dropped, low and heavy.

“That Ekko... chose not to come back. At all.”

Zeri stared at her, incredulous. “What? That doesn’t—”

“It does,” Caitlyn interrupted, no softness in her voice. “He was grieving. Running on fumes. Barely sleeping. Depressed. Alone. And that kind of pain doesn’t just fade. For some people, living like that is worse than…”

She didn’t finish the thought.

She didn’t have to.

Zeri felt it first—that cold twist in her gut. That awful what-if. 

Vi felt it too, but for her, it was like the air got punched out of her lungs. Her mind didn’t just whisper missing anymore.

It whispered, Dead.

And maybe... by choice.

Zeri shook her head violently, like trying to knock the thought loose from her skull.

“I’ll help you search,” she said, her voice brittle. “But not for a body. I’m not doing that. I can’t.”

Her voice cracked, just a little. She clenched her fists.

Then she cursed under her breath when her eyes started to sting.

She wasn’t going to cry. Not here. Not in front of them.

“We’d never ask that of you,” Caitlyn said firmly.

Vi looked wrecked, so Caitlyn reached for her hand without thinking, then turned back to Zeri.

“We’ll find him. I swear to you, we will.”

Zeri didn’t answer. She just nodded, tight and quiet, still staring at the floor.

She couldn’t look them in the eyes.

Before leaving, Zeri’s mother had handed them a bag full of food, refusing to let them leave with an empty stomach. Then, they headed to the Tree of the Firelights. Given the circumstances, Scar had allowed them access to its exact location—to facilitate communication, he'd said, but the trust behind that decision spoke volumes.

They arrived quietly, laying the dishes out in the dining area, their minds elsewhere. Still tethered to hope, they once again decided to search Ekko’s workshop. They had searched it before—nothing. But now, after what Zeri had said, they were more certain: he had been here that night. They just needed solid proof to keep going…

"How are we supposed to notice suspicious clutter… from the clutter he already had here?" Vi muttered, crossing her arms with an exasperated sigh. The workshop was a chaotic museum of wires, sketches, and half-assembled dreams.

“Think of something precious,” Caitlyn murmured, eyes scanning every corner. “Something he wouldn’t leave behind. Zeri said he was protective of what mattered. You have to ask Scar—”

“I don’t know,” Vi interrupted. “I’m afraid I have no idea of what he considers precious nowadays. The years have turned him into a stranger I still love like a brother.”

She picked up a garish pink spring, its metal worn from use. The color was so obnoxiously bright it could only be Jinx’s doing. Only she would think a place like this needed flair. Vi rolled it between her fingers, brow furrowed.

“So, they had something,” she muttered, mostly to herself.

“Why the face?” Caitlyn asked, voice low. “You can’t pretend to be surprised. I thought you’d be happy.”

“I knew Ekko liked her,” Vi said tightly, “but I didn’t know it was mutual. Powder—Jinx—always seemed too wrapped in her chaos to feel something like that. Or so I thought.” Her voice cracked slightly. “When did they grow up so much?”

“They didn’t,” Caitlyn said. “Not really. Life didn’t give them time. They just acted older.”

She turned, as if trying to chase away Vi’s spiraling thoughts—and that’s when her gaze caught something.

A symbol.

Etched into a golden button. It shimmered subtly under the pale workshop light, nestled between scattered tools.

Caitlyn wasn’t a techie, but the rune-like engraving was foreign, too clean, too precise, and too expensive to belong here. She picked it up carefully, turning it over in her fingers, trying to figure out its origin. It looked familiar, but she didn’t know why.

"Vi, look at this."

Vi took it, brows knitting together. “This isn’t his.”

“You’re sure?”

“There was a prisoner in Stillwater,” Vi said slowly, almost reluctantly. “She used to carve stuff like this onto her boot. Said they were Shuriman. For good luck.”

Caitlyn caught the hesitation. “A Shuriman criminal?”

Vi shrugged, evasive. “Something like that.”

She didn’t say the woman was from Bilgewater. That she wasn’t just a criminal but someone Vi had once traced constellations in her skin through prison bars. That wasn’t the time to talk about Miss Sarah Fortune and her eccentric pirate beliefs.

They didn’t get a chance to linger on the find.

Outside, Scar’s shout shattered the quiet:

“Weapons up! Enforcers incoming!”

A beat. Then chaos.

Caitlyn and Vi bolted for the exit, weapons in hand, instincts flaring. Beyond the threshold of the tree, far enough to lose it but close enough for them to arrive on time, the street had become a war zone. Enforcers stormed into homes, shouting commands. Merchants frantically shuttered stalls. Parents shoved their children into dark doorways, trying to keep them from danger. 

The Firelights, with Scar at the lead, were already pushing back. They didn’t scatter this time. They stood their ground.

Zaun was no longer begging for scraps. They were defending what they had built.

Caitlyn didn’t hesitate. She yanked a rifle from a wounded Firelight’s grip and locked and loaded it in a heartbeat.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Barb yelled, disbelief and mistrust wide in her eyes.

“Fighting back,” Caitlyn snapped.

Scar blinked. But Vi? She was already beside her.

“Let’s go!” she shouted, eyes alight with fury.

Gunfire erupted, deafening and immediate. The air turned thick with smoke and fear. Caitlyn and Vi moved like a unit, covering flanks, forcing enforcers back.

And then—

“Cease fire!”

The voice boomed over the gunshots, stopping everything mid-motion. An enforcer stepped forward, helmet off. His eyes locked on Caitlyn with something between disbelief and dread.

“Lady Kiramman…”

Caitlyn didn’t lower her gun.

“Give me one reason not to blow your brains out, Ferros.”

Her voice was steel.

Ferros raised his hands slowly. “We’re here because of what happened at Kiramman Manor.”

Caitlyn froze.

“What... do you mean?”

Ferros’ face twitched with something almost like pity.

“There was an attack. Many dead. The house was ransacked. Two presumed kidnapped—Dr. Tobias Kiramman and you.”

Caitlyn felt the ground vanish beneath her.

Her father.

“No,” she whispered. “No, that’s not—”

“We found symbols,” Ferros added, “ones linked to the Zaunite known as Jinx. We are searching for a copycat, or so it seems…”

The name shattered everything.

Caitlyn’s rifle slipped from her fingers, landing with a hollow thud.

In a blink, the enforcers swarmed. One tackled her to the ground. She didn’t resist. Couldn’t. The world had shrunk to the sound of her heartbeat. ‘Dad…why him too?’

Vi, however, lunged.

“Get your hands off her!” She roared.

Scar tried to hold her back—it was no use. Seconds later, she too was pinned, face crushed into the dirt, wrists bound. Scar and the others tried to intervene, but the enforcers had numbers. And Ferros had orders. They had to run while they still could.

“You’re under arrest,” he said flatly. “Take them all!”

Vi barely registered the order as they dragged them apart. 

The last thing she saw was Caitlyn’s face.

Blank. Hollow.

As if the news had carved out the last of her light…

Chapter Text

“At first, I thought your sister had survived.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Caitlyn?”

“No body, no crime.” Her voice was hollow. “There were ways to escape. Tunnels. The blast wasn’t as bad as it should’ve been—I found pieces of the bomb. Something was off. Beyond logic, but it happened. And during those first few days… I kept waiting. I thought she’d crawl out of whatever sewer she was hiding in and make some dramatic return. I was terrified she’d show up at her funeral. As insane as that sounds, it felt exactly like something she’d do. I even thought maybe Ekko hadn’t come to the wake because he was with her, trying to stop whatever twisted game she’d planned.”

She paused, eyes unfocused.

“But she didn’t. Days passed, and she stayed dead. After two weeks… I let go. I stopped expecting her. It really seemed like she was gone.”

Vi’s jaw clenched angrily.

“Jinx is dead, Cait. It’s been almost three months. And she didn’t take your dad. If that’s what you’re trying to say—”

“I’m not insinuating anything.” Caitlyn cut her off. Her voice cracked. “I’m confessing.”

She let out a noise — half-laugh, half-sob — and it gutted Vi to hear it.

“She crawled back into my head — if she ever even left. I don’t know. I don’t care.”

Her words were unraveling. Fast.

“She’s dead. Why can’t she just stay that way — for all our sakes. Especially hers.”

She wiped at her face, furious and broken.

“Now people are using her symbols to justify more violence, pretending it’s her, dragging her name through hell all over again. They're ruining whatever legacy she had left. I’m sorry for that. I'm sorry I didn’t tell you all of this before. I’m just... sorry.”

And then, she shattered.

Whatever held her together finally snapped. Her shoulders collapsed inward, and she stopped pretending to be strong.

Vi cursed the bars between them. She reached through, fumbling to hold Caitlyn’s hand — clumsy, desperate. Kissed her knuckles. Tried to shush her. Tried to protect her from the glances of the other detainees. But she couldn’t do anything real.

She couldn’t pull her close. Couldn’t fix any of this. So, she just watched helplessly as the woman she loved fell apart on the other side of a cold, metal cage. It was ridiculous — promising Caitlyn she wasn’t alone when she was locked in a cell. 

Alone.

They weren’t in Stillwater, but it sure as hell felt like it.

Out of the three holding cells, one was for men, one for Zaunite women… and one for Caitlyn. Maybe it was protocol. Maybe the enforcers were playing with them— or maybe they just wanted them to sweat more before Stillwater decided their fate.

Vi didn’t care anymore. All that mattered was that Caitlyn was crumbling.

“If you thought Jinx had survived,” Vi said quietly, carefully, “why did you push to drop her charges before you resigned? I thought maybe… it was symbolic. Like, one last act of good faith. So, her name wouldn’t be buried with criminal records.”

Her voice dropped even lower.

“But if you believed she was still alive… Why let her walk free? If she came back, she couldn’t be tried again. You knew that.”

Caitlyn’s reply was a whisper. Like breathing hurt.

“Worse crimes have been acquitted during wars. And she was your sister. I thought… if she came back from the dead somehow, maybe she deserved that second chance with you. Just like I pray my dad gets one with me now. Jinx was your only family. Just like he is mine. I didn’t want to be the one to take that from you.”

Her voice wavered. Cracked again.

“But now… now we have no one.”

Caitlyn's words dissolved into the fog curling thick and gray around them, swallowing her voice whole. Vi squeezed her hand tightly, desperately—like maybe touch alone could keep them tethered to something real.

They had each other. And that was supposed to be enough.

But right now, it just hurts.

How had everything fallen apart so fast? Just hours ago, they’d been... not fine, but stable. And now it felt like the whole world had crumbled beneath them.

Metal footsteps cut through the silence like a sentence passed.

Vi straightened instinctively, jaw tightening. Camille Ferros emerged from the shadows with that uncanny, unnerving precision. Elegant, sharp-edged. Cold as ever.

“You’ve been released. No charges.”

Vi exhaled too fast. For a heartbeat, she believed it might be okay. That this nightmare was easing up. But then she looked at Caitlyn and saw it. The way her mouth tensed. The way something bitter flickered behind her eyes, lighting them up with rage. No. Nothing was okay.

“How generous,” Caitlyn muttered, dry as ash. “Tell me—how much will this act of magnanimity cost us?”

“Make no mistake, Kiramman,” Camille replied, gliding a step closer. “This isn’t about you.”

She lowered her head a fraction, mocking deference. Her tone never shifted from steel. It was unnerving. 

"Piltover made a serious mistake. The armed intervention in the Gray District violated an existing treaty. Understandably, the Council wants to de-escalate the situation before we face any consequences. Releasing you is the quickest way to cover up a problem they want to ignore." 

Vi let out a humorless snort.

“Bargaining chips. That’s all we are to you, isn’t it?”

“They used us,” Caitlyn snapped. “And what about my father?”

Camille didn’t flinch. Just studied her. Cool. Calculating. 

The pause itself felt like a threat.

“Due process must be followed,” she said at last. “I’m afraid your questions will have to wait until the investigation concludes. And as residents of Kiramman Manor, you’ll both be questioned. You’re part of this now. Irrevocably.”

Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed to slits.

“If you wanted answers, you’d be doing something.”

Camille’s brow arched ever so slightly.

“To assume otherwise only shows how little you understand Piltover’s mechanisms—despite having led them.”

Tension crackled. Camille didn’t blink—she escalated.

“You disappointed me, Caitlyn. Not only in what you did… but who you did it against.”

Caitlyn blinked, frowning.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“How long were you a commander?” Camille asked, her voice low and sharp. “How long did Laurent Ferros serve you with unwavering loyalty? The Ferros and the Kirammans have stood as allies for generations—even when your family’s Hextech obsession endangered us all. And yet, the moment things went sideways, you didn’t hesitate. You aimed your gun at my nephew.”

Vi felt Caitlyn flinch.

“I aimed at an armed man assaulting civilians,” she bit out. “I became an Enforcer to protect people. And all I saw that night were thugs terrorizing the defenseless.”

“That wasn’t your call to make.”

“No? Then whose?” Caitlyn’s voice rose, fraying at the edges. “The Council, hiding in their ivory towers? You—slinking through shadows, playing judge when it suits your goals?”

Camille’s mask faltered. Just barely. Enough to let something sharper show through. A warning.

“Zaun and Piltover will never be the same,” she said. “Delude yourself all you want, Caitlyn—but they’ll never stop seeing you as their enemy. And if you think getting involved will help your case with them or anyone, you're more naïve than I thought.”

Silence. Suffocating.

Vi clenched her fists, jaw set, glaring. But she didn’t speak.

She knew that look in Caitlyn’s eyes. She didn’t need to be defended.

She wasn't backing down. Not this time.

“Piltover and Zaun have more in common than you think,” Caitlyn said, trying to steady her voice, but it still cracked around the edges. “Right now, for example, both are dealing with the disappearance of someone important.”

She swallowed, pressing on.

“I want to report the disappearance of Ekko. Leader of the Firelights. Savior of Piltover and Zaun. He risked his life alongside Jinx—may she rest in peace—and fought to end Shimmer for years better than we ever could. It’s been almost two days, and no one’s heard from him. Zaun is panicking.”

Camille tilted her head slightly, vaguely intrigued.

“Full name?” she asked, already bored. “We’ll need a formal registration.”

“He doesn’t have one,” Caitlyn replied tightly. “He’s from Zaun.”

Camille exhaled through her nose, the corners of her mouth curling in something too cynical to be called a smile.

“Then there’s nothing we can do.”

Caitlyn blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“No last name means no ID. No ID, no search.” Camille turned, like the matter was already closed. “Like most Zaunites, he probably only has a hospital intake form—worthless, legally. We don’t investigate people who, on paper, don’t exist.”

“Oh, now you care about legality?” Vi snapped, pushing off the wall. “Funny—you didn’t give a damn about that when you dragged me in here! I didn’t exist either, remember? Didn’t stop you then!”

Camille barely glanced at her.

“That’s how the system works. If you want to live in Piltover, Vi, you’ll have to accept it. You should be grateful someone gave you a ladder out of the mud.”

Vi’s hands curled into fists.

“He saved your asses! That’s how you repay him for it? You are fucking hypocrite.”

“It’s the truth,” Camille said flatly. “And don’t forget—your time in Stillwater had more to do with Silco’s choices than ours. It’s not my fault you crawled out of a nest of traitors who left a teenage girl to rot in a cell.”

“You say that like Piltover wouldn’t have done the same thing to me.” Vi’s voice was a growl. “They were ready to arrest kids. I was going to turn myself in—because they terrorized my people to the brink!”

Camille didn’t blink. “There’s no record of anything you’re talking about, Miss Vi.”

Caitlyn stepped forward, regaining some of her usual composure—but the weight in her chest made everything slower, duller.

“Zaun is under Piltover’s protection until independence is finalized,” she reminded. “That’s in the peace treaty.”

“In exchange for a cut of Zaun’s mines and manufacturing, I know,” Camille replied, dry as ash. “Doesn’t apply here. Feel free to try—but you know I’m right.”

Caitlyn’s stomach dropped.

Two people were missing. Her father—the only family she had left—and Ekko. And she knew everyone in Piltover would move heaven and earth to find the first.

But Ekko?

Ekko would’ve vanished like smoke if it weren’t for the Firelights.

“Come with me. You’ll sign the release and be properly interrogated.”

Vi glanced at Caitlyn, who just shrugged, hollow-eyed.

“Let’s just fucking leave.”

But before they could move, a silhouette stepped into the hall, blocking the exit.

“You’re finally done.”

Sevika’s voice made them both freeze. Calm, but laced with urgency.

“We need to talk. Now.”

Caitlyn didn’t smile often anymore. But watching Camille Ferros bite her tongue and hand them over to Sevika? That came close.

As much as she loathed working with a Zaunite, Sevika was a councilor now. Camille had no choice. The rules she worshipped demanded it. And for Caitlyn, Sevika was simply the lesser of two evils.

She led them down a narrow corridor, away from the buzz of enforcers and Camille’s glacial glare. The room they entered was small, metal, and smelled faintly of rust. Sevika shut the door with a heavy click, then turned to face them, arms crossed, jaw tight.

"I'm not wasting time on this," she said, her voice rough and low. "It’s already a mess."

Neither Caitlyn nor Vi spoke. Caitlyn looked exhausted, hollowed out. Vi looked ready to snap.

Sevika went on. "Piltover’s going to twist this any way they can. I’ve already started pushing back for what they pulled in the Gray District, but it’s not enough. Not by a long shot. You think they'll wait before using Tobias Kiramman's disappearance to flood Zaun with more enforcers?"

She paused. Her eyes darkened.

"And let’s not forget Ekko’s vanishing isn’t another spark in the powder keg. You think Zaun's just going to sit still while one of their leaders is missing?"

Vi felt her chest tighten. Sevika wasn’t wrong.

"What do you know?" Sevika asked sharply. She wasn’t in the mood for guesses or diplomatic half-truths.

"Not much," Caitlyn admitted, her voice barely audible. "Before the attack, we confirmed Ekko made it back. Zeri said she saw him. But when we searched, he was gone. All we found was this."

She reached into her coat and pulled out the button, holding it out like a piece of her own heart. Sevika took it, her mechanical fingers turning it over with practiced suspicion.

"...Shit," she muttered. The recognition on her face made Vi’s skin prickle.

"You know it?" Vi asked.

"I’ve only seen this on one guy. That shiny, cocky Piltover explorer—Ezreal."

Vi blinked. "Who?"

"Ezreal Lymere," Caitlyn echoed, still sounding like she didn’t believe it. "An explorer. A bit of a show-off. Clumsy. But... he’s not dangerous. He’s not a kidnapper."

“You know him?”

“From school.”

"Oh, but isn’t he dangerous?" Sevika scoffed. "He had no reason to get tangled in any of this, and yet—his crap shows up where Ekko was last seen. I’m not saying he took him, but I’m not saying he didn’t, either."

Vi’s jaw locked. If that guy had answers, he was going to give them up. Willingly or not.

Caitlyn looked at Sevika, eyes sharp despite the grief clouding them. “And my father?”

Sevika let out a heavy breath. "I don’t think Zaun did it."

Caitlyn stared at her like she'd just slapped her. "How can you say that?"

"Because the only Zaunite dumb enough to leave behind her signature in her crime scenes is dead. And because, for all the tension, the Kirammans aren’t hated enough to make a hit like that worth it. You helped rebuild half our sectors without blinking. In Zaun, that means something."

"I know that. But it doesn’t erase the fact that there are extremists. Ones that made their intentions clear."

"I'm not saying it's impossible," Sevika muttered, arms crossed. "I'm saying if it was someone from Zaun, I'll handle it myself. I don’t tolerate bastards who screw us all over for some petty revenge. But you better listen, Kiramman. Don’t assume Piltover has your back. Not after what you pulled."

Caitlyn flinched. She didn’t ask what Sevika meant—she already knew.

She’d been the one to stand up for Jinx. The one who vouched for her. Who fought for her name to be cleared, because that was one of Zaun’s conditions for peace: to honor one of the two kids who dragged them all through fire and back—and somehow got most of them home alive. She believed in something better. And now?

Now her name came with stares. Whispers. Suspicion. In her damn city.

Sevika stepped in closer, her voice dropping low, heavy like smog.

“Doubt your people like you doubt mine.”

Caitlyn didn’t reply. But her jaw tightened.

“And one more thing,” Sevika added, suddenly switching gears. “Starting now, you’re back on enforcer duty. By my decree.”

Caitlyn blinked. “You’re giving me orders now?”

“I’m giving you a chance to fix this before someone worse takes your place.” Sevika grinned, crooked and sharp. “I don’t trust you. But with you and Vi playing house? I know you’ve got a reason to keep Zaun from getting crushed. That’s good enough for me.”

Caitlyn exhaled slowly. She hated taking orders—especially from Sevika—but she understood the message underneath.

Across the room, Vi leaned against the wall, arms folded tight, face unreadable. She had barely spoken since the meeting started. Her fists clenched just slightly at the word Stillwater earlier—barely, but Caitlyn noticed. She always noticed.

It wasn’t lost on Vi how close she was to ending up in another cell just for defending innocents. Again. It wasn’t lost on her that Caitlyn had barely slept since her father’s disappearance. And it sure as hell wasn’t lost on her that she couldn’t fix any of it.

The silence stretched thin between them.

It wasn’t an ideal alliance. They didn’t trust each other. Not even close.

But they didn’t have to.

“Fine,” Caitlyn finally said, her voice quieter than usual but steady. “As an enforcer, I’ll investigate my father’s disappearance.”

‘And about Jayce, Viktor, and Sky’s research… If that information is gone, I just hope Zaun got it. Lesser evil,’ she added bitterly to herself.

“I’ll keep Zaun under control,” Sevika said, more serious now. “I don’t want this turning into a war. I’ll hold the line with Piltover too, if I can.”

“And I’ll find Ekko,” Vi cut in, finally speaking up. Her voice was sharp, unyielding. “If he’s missing, I’ll track who did it. If he’s hiding, I’m the only one who could bring him back.”

Three women. One fragile understanding.

It wasn’t an alliance built on trust, just on desperation. And the hope that none of them would screw the others over. For Ekko, Tobias, Piltover, and Zaun’s sakes.

(...)

“Shimmer is still very new,” Doctor Goode began gently, her voice calm but firm, “so the data on how it affects pregnancy is limited. That said, based on everything I’ve seen so far, I’m pleased to tell you your case is one of the rare ones where exposure hasn’t significantly impacted fetal development. If things continue progressing well, we should be able to determine the sex in a couple of weeks. Do you have any questions?”

Jinx squinted at the screen, tilting her head like it might suddenly make sense if she looked at it sideways.

“It looks weird. I don’t even know what I’m looking at. Why is it okay?”

Doctor Goode blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, I’m glad the baby’s okay. Of course, I am.” Jinx’s voice cracked with the effort of pretending she was calm. “It’s just—you said only a few pregnancies go well with Shimmer in the mix. Why? Why is mine one of them? Or there’s no reason.”

The doctor nodded slowly, shifting her tone into a more explanatory one—like a professor who gave a damn.

“Because Shimmer isn’t constant, just like most drugs. There are numerous variants out there, and within those variants, different isomers—same elements, different structure. Kind of like hands: they look alike, but they don’t align. Some variants and their isomers can cause malformations, miscarriages, and even long-term complications for both the mother and the child. Others don’t. While it’s still early to rule out every possible risk, your labs suggest you were exposed to one of the safer variants. You’re... quite lucky.”

Jinx let out a laugh—a short, surprised bark that made Goode glance at her, puzzled.

“Sorry,” Jinx said, trying to pull herself together. “It’s just... that’s a first. Me, being lucky. Maybe it’s her.”

“You think it’s a girl?”

“When I dream, it’s a girl,” she said softly. “But I guess that’s not very scientific, is it?”

Goode’s smile was warm but reserved. “Medicine isn’t an exact science. Dreams often reflect what’s buried in our minds, conscious or not. And I never discount a mother’s intuition.” She paused, curious. “What does your husband think it might be?”

Jinx nearly choked. Then she remembered—the ring. The stupid wedding ring Sarah made her wear every time she stepped outside. In Bilgewater, being alone was more dangerous than pretending not to be…

…

“Even if Ekko were here and we had a gun, he’d give it to me,” Jinx grumbled, folding her arms. “I’m a better shot than he is. Damsel in distress my ass—”

“Can you not argue with me for once?” Sarah snapped, exasperated. “I don’t doubt you can defend yourself. I just don’t want you to have to. Respect in Bilgewater is earned through blood, and one shortcut is reputation by association. So, if they ask, your husband’s a pirate on the Syren. Period. That puts you under the protection of a pirate and the Pirate Queen.”

Her voice softened just slightly.

“You said you wanted to avoid violence for the baby. If Bilgewater is temporary, if you’re getting out someday, who cares what people think of you while you’re here? Let them think what they want. Just use it. It’s not your style, but it’s... nice.” She held out the ring. “And you’d better not lose it!’"

…

The ring was simple but elegant.

Engraved on the inside: Our Love is A. Fortune.

A. Fortune.

Anthony and Abigale Fortune owned a ring that once belonged to one of Sarah's parents, likely her mother. The ring was not only expensive but also held deep personal significance. Jinx noticed this in the way Sarah paused for a moment before handing it over, asking her to treat it with caution. 

Although Jinx wasn't skilled at taking care of most things, she was determined to care for that ring. Knowing how precious it was, she felt humbled by Sarah's trust in her. She wore it every day, proudly, and even took the time to clean it until it looked new. She convinced herself that it brought her good luck, just like Miss Fortune did…

“He doesn’t have an opinion on it,” she said, lying with ease and practiced detachment.

But her thoughts betrayed her.

What would Ekko think if he knew?

What would he want it to be?

It didn’t matter. It couldn’t. Thinking like that led nowhere—just another spiral, another way to tear herself apart.

She had to stay anchored. To her present.

And her present was this: she was alone.

Doctor Goode gave her a soft, almost motherly smile. “That’s fine, too. Girl or boy—they’re healthy, and that’s what matters. Just keep taking care of yourself. You and your baby are doing well. And if anything worries you before our next appointment, don’t hesitate to come by. Anytime. Sarah and Izar asked me to take special care of you, the Syren’s Bluebird.”

“Are they friends of yours?” Jinx asked.

“Yes. Sarah helped us study in Piltover years ago. She took us on her ship —there are no universities here, and we couldn’t have made it on our own. Once we graduated, there was a problem with Korrigan’s certification, and Sarah offered him the position of doctor aboard The Syren. I came back here and opened this clinic. She even lent me the money for the island’s only ultrasound machine. It took me a few years to pay it off, but I made it. Since then, things have gotten better. Bilgewater needed this.”

Jinx listened in silence, her mind filing pieces together.

‘She really did build a web of favors to keep the island close,’ Jinx thought.

But she didn’t hold it against her. Better chains of favors than chains of fear…

“This might sound weird, but... can I borrow some of those articles you mentioned about Shimmer?” Jinx asked hesitantly. “I know you said not to stress, and I won’t—I promise—I just want to know more. I understood what you explained, but... I’m curious.”

Doctor Goode blinked, surprised. “No one’s ever asked me that before... but yes, of course. Let me see what I can find.”

As Jinx got dressed, Goode started flipping through folders on her desk.

For better or worse, Jinx had grown up reading.

First, the stories Vander found in market stalls—always traded for, never bought—because Vi loved reading and someone had to read with her. Then came the science books: physics and mechanics, courtesy of Silco, who hoped she’d sharpen her inventions. And biology, from Singed, on loan only because he’d caught her snooping through his lab once too often and didn’t want her to get harmed. She never fully understood any of it, but she devoured them anyway. It kept her busy, and with any luck, sometimes she learned something useful. Reading fed her curiosity…

These days, with her mind always on the brink, she clung to anything non-destructive that could hold her attention long enough to quiet the noise. The voices didn’t scream like they used to, but the uncertainty—that still kept her awake.

She didn’t know much about biology. But she understood this: for the next year and a quarter, she’d be her baby’s whole world and substance. Her blood, her body, her milk. That’s why it shocked her—why it mattered so much—that everything was okay.

Her poisoned blood hadn’t hurt them. Not yet.

“I have three articles written for a general audience and one that’s more technical,” Goode said, holding out a small packet of printed pages. “Will that work?”

“Perfect. Thank you, Dr. Goode. I’ll see you in three weeks?”

“If all goes well, yes. Take care, Mrs. O’Connol! I hope The Syren returns soon... and with your husband, safe and sound.”

‘Yeah, right. As if I’d ever be that lucky to see Ekko again, much less to call him that.”

Jinx didn’t answer.

She just smiled—tight-lipped, practiced—and walked out the door.

(...)

“I hope you're planning on hiding that thing better.”

“What thing?”

“The one you used at the port to dodge bullets. Ring a bell? We’re on a pirate ship, Ekko. A floating nest of rats. That thing screams weird. And to these guys? Weird means valuable.”

“Appreciate the warning, Ezreal. Didn’t ask for it, though.”

“Just saying, man.” Ezreal shrugged, then shot him a sidelong glance. “By the way, what even is it? I tried to figure it out myself, but none of the theories make sense. They’re all impossible. Especially since, as far as I know, you’re not exactly packing magic. Did Zeri help you build it? Or Jinx? Or both?”

“What theories?”

“That you’re bending time somehow. But that’d mean time isn’t just a concept. That it’s flexible. Breakable. And I hate that thought, honestly.”

“Then stop thinking,” Ekko snapped.

Ezreal raised an eyebrow, lips curled in that smug little grin of his—but the edge was gone. “Touchy.”

Ekko hated how close he was getting. Ezreal being clever was annoying enough. But smart? That was dangerous. And right now, Ekko wasn’t in the mood to be lectured about the possible dangerous outcomes of his invention, much less by Lymere. 

“Hey,” Ezreal said, his voice suddenly softer, cutting through the haze. “I don’t mind you lashing out. Hit me with whatever you’ve got. Just… don’t bring that to her. Don’t let that fury blind you when it’s her you’re facing.”

Ekko scoffed, jaw tight. “And what exactly am I supposed to see instead?”

“That she’s alive,” Ezreal said quietly. “After everything. Against all logic, all odds. She survived. And yeah, she ran. She faked her death, she left Zaun, she left you… But she’s alive: there will be plenty of better times to get angry with her for this. And now she’s not just Jinx. She’s the mother of your child. She doesn’t need a firing squad—she needs… something else.”

“She’s a ticking time bomb,” he added, voice sharp but not cruel.

Ekko gave a dry, bitter laugh.

Ticking time bomb. Yeah. That fit, but it didn’t help. 

It didn’t even scratch the storm eating him alive from the inside out.

Jinx was alive.

She had survived.

And still, she chose to stay dead.

She chose to vanish. To abandon them. To leave him gutted and bleeding and still somehow believing she’d come back from the dead to claim him. After everything—

Their bright, reckless childhood.

The years spent as enemies across a broken city.

The war. The rage. The impossible reunion.

He remembered what it felt like to touch her for the first time again and feel the world stop. How she’d looked at him like she’d never stopped seeing him. Like maybe—just maybe—they weren’t doomed.

He remembered the way her fingers trembled the first time they kissed, how she laughed too loud, like it hurt. He got to know her all over again—her hands, calloused and cracked; her voice, soft when she said his name like it meant something. Her waist beneath his palms. Her skin, hot like fire.

How she made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t already lost everything.

And he remembered how quickly he’d gotten used to her.

To waking up and remembering he wasn’t alone anymore.

To kiss her like they’d always meant to. Thinking, ‘This is it.’

Because she was chaos, and fury, and scars, but ultimately, they belong together.

And he’d believed—stupidly, desperately—that if they survived the war, nothing could ever break them again. But if anyone could destroy something good, it was them.

They were too broken. Too burned. Too much. And still…

She could’ve stayed.

She could’ve told him the truth.

She could’ve let him love her.

But instead, she faked her death. She ran. And she took their future with her.

Didn’t she love him?

Maybe she had. Maybe she still did. Just…not enough. Not the way he loved her.

Hadn’t he made it obvious? Hadn’t he shown her what she meant? 

But maybe love, for her, was never enough to stay.

Not when the past was a graveyard. Not when running meant freedom.

Not when leaving meant she could bury the ghosts, the blood, and the shattered parts of herself and get free of those shackles.

Shackles.

Of course, there were still shackles tying them together. No fire leaves no ashes. 

Jinx had built a new life without him, but she wouldn't live it alone.

They had made something together. A child. A new life forged in the middle of all that chaos. And if it hadn’t been for Ezreal’s recklessness—if it hadn’t been for Miss Fortune’s plans and her stupid need for leverage—he would’ve never known.

And that… that was the cruelest cut.

She’d taken that from him, too.

Denied him the truth. Denied him them.

“So, you don’t even know if she’s planning to keep it?”

His voice cracked more than he meant. He hated how small it sounded.

Not that it would’ve changed anything.

He’d loved her since he was seven, long before he ever thought about babies. Long before he knew what it meant to love and lose someone in every possible way.

And he’d probably die loving her, even if she never looked at him like that again.

But he needed to know.

Because if she were having that child… everything would shift.

He would have to become something else.

Something more.

Something whole.

The problem was—he didn’t know how.

He didn’t remember the scent of his mother, Inna, or the lull in her voice when she hummed to him in the dark. He barely remembered his dad’s laugh or the warmth in his arms. The protests took them both. The chaos burned their faces out of his memories like acid. Benzo had tried. He had loved him. Raised him as his own.

But even those memories felt faded, like old film eaten by mold. His brain had built walls. Protective ones. Ones that kept the pain out—and the memories too.

Aside from Scar, who bled and lived for his little girl, Ekko had no real model of what it meant to be a father.

But he knew what he wanted.

If he were going to be a dad, he would be a good one.

If he had to rip down everything that remained of his broken world just to build something stable for that child, for her—he would do it. 

He wanted to do it. For the three of them.

He just needed to know if he still had to…

Ezreal, for once, didn’t answer right away.

He spun the Z-Drive in his fingers, hypnotized by its mechanics, like the weight of Ekko’s world wasn’t collapsing right in front of him.

Ekko snatched it back with a force that cracked the air.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Ezreal blinked, thrown off. Then he threw up his hands, offended.

“What the hell is wrong with you?! I was just taking a look! Like I said, you hid it like crap. Everyone in Zaun and Piltover could recognize that thing’s monkeys from a mile away. So... besides a baby, you and Jinx made an impossible machine together? You don’t waste time.”

Ekko’s jaw locked.

There was a flash behind his eyes. Anger, grief, betrayal. All the ugly colors of the truth.

“Answer what I asked you, dammit.”

Ezreal groaned and folded his arms like a petulant teen.

“I don’t know, okay? I tried asking. She dodged the topic like it burned. But I think so... otherwise, Fortune wouldn’t be this desperate to track you down.”

Ekko’s stomach twisted in on itself.

“Why the urgency?”

Ezreal hesitated, then looked away.

“Because Miss Fortune was scared, man. Scared that if anything went wrong, Jinx would break beyond fixing. Or worse... that the kid would be left with no one.”

A chill tore through Ekko’s spine like a blade.

His voice came out dry and sharp.

“Is Jinx sick?”

Is she dying again? For real this time. Is the universe cruel enough to take her again?

Ezreal looked at him with a rare flicker of sincerity.

“No... I don’t think so. She was struggling, yeah. But she masked it like her life depended on it. Typical Jinx. Still, nothing looked wrong. At least not from what I know about pregnancy, which... isn't much.”

Ekko frowned. Something about it all smelled off.

“Then why the hell is that captain so worried?”

He’d been cursing that woman for days—Miss Fortune, the mysterious ghost who’d shattered his world with a single truth.

She’d ripped him out of his life, out of Zaun, out of the war—and tossed him into a sea of unanswered questions. She hadn’t even had the guts to face him herself.

And still...

He owed her.

Because at least now, the silence was over.

At least now, the numbness was cracking.

Miss Fortune.

Captain of the Syren.

A stranger.

And the reason his heart had started beating again.

“Because it’s a pregnancy, Ekko,” Ezreal said quietly. “Not a disease, but close enough if something goes sideways. And Fortune figured she’d need someone. You. Since you know… you’re the reason she’s in that mess to begin with.”

“I need some air.”

Ekko didn’t wait for a response.

He stormed out, Z-Drive in hand—ignoring Ezreal’s sulking sighs behind him.

Let them try and take it. They’d have to rip it from his goddamn corpse.

Outside, the sea swallowed the horizon. The sky was stained with soft light—pink and gold and distant.

It didn’t look real. It didn’t look like Zaun.

And for someone who had never even wanted to leave home, it stole his breath.

He almost understood why Jinx had fled. 

Because the familiar is a cage, and the unknown, for all its terror, whispers freedom.

Maybe out there…

The rain wasn’t poisoned.

Maybe people smiled more.

Maybe dreams didn’t get crushed before they could even bloom.

The unknown meant endless possibilities, while Zaun always seemed hopeless.

But he was always a fool for hope, even when it burned him alive.

He had fought for Zaun for years without proof that it could ever change. Now, after seeing timelines where it had changed, where it thrived, he couldn't give up.

Why settle for it only happening in another life? 

Perhaps through ashes and blood, but something good would grow out of Zaun. 

And he’d make damn sure of it.

He just hoped—no, ached—to do it with Jinx at his side.

She and the child he didn’t even know how to love yet but wanted to. Desperately.

Chapter Text

Powder hesitated at the edge of the rooftop, peering up into the dark where Ekko waited, his hand stretched out like it could catch the whole sky.

"I don't know, Ekko. Isn't it too high up there?"

"Do you trust me, Pow-Pow?"

She did. Even though her legs felt like jelly and her heart clattered against her ribs like loose bolts, she nodded without thinking. It wasn't the height she trusted—it was him. It was always him. She would have followed him blindfolded into the jaws of Zaun itself if he had asked. The rooftop wasn't even close to home. It was somewhere strange, somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be. Vi would’ve thrown a fit if she found out. But Ekko had whispered about a surprise, and Powder’s chest had filled with that familiar, dangerous heat: curiosity.

She'd pretended to sleep, listening for the soft creak of Vi sneaking out (she’d been seeing that girl from the other block again; Powder knew, even if Vi thought she didn’t). Once she was sure her sister wouldn’t catch her, Powder slipped into the night, her heart pounding with every step.

Vi had taught her through bruises and scrapes, the hard way—catch yourself or fall. Ekko taught differently. He waited. He explained. He held her hand when he knew she needed it and let go when she needed to prove to herself that she could stand…

He taught her to move through the night like a stray cat, half shadow and half-laughter. Rooftops were safer than alleys anyway. Fewer monsters were hiding in the dark. Fewer people who could make you disappear…

Most days, they were never alone. Clingy, Mylo called her as often as he called her a jinx, like it was an insult. But Powder didn’t care. Every second alone with Ekko felt too precious to waste. She could tell he thought so too—the way he smiled differently when it was just the two of them, like the whole city faded away and only she was left. Those smiles were hers. Only hers. And they made her feel like she mattered more than the whole rotten world. Powder loved him for it. She loved him in the wild, unthinking way little kids love — like it was stitched into her bones, as natural as breathing.

"It's here!" Ekko said, tugging her forward.

They weren’t far from the old bridge—the one that divided Zaun from Piltover, the one her dreams still remembered burning.

The last time she'd crossed that river, Vander had carried her. Powder hadn't seen the bodies, hadn't seen the smoke swallowing the sky. Vi had whispered, ‘Don't look, don't look, don't look,’ and she obeyed. But she smelled it. Blood and ash and melted skin. She heard it—the screaming, and the way it cut off, just like that.

Even Vi never went near that place anymore.

Powder’s fingers found Ekko’s and squeezed tight, anchoring herself to something real. She was scared. Of course, she was. But she could be brave for him. With him.

"What are we doing here, Ekko? This better be good. Vi and Vander would skin me alive if they knew, and Benzo would probably hang you by your ears."

Ekko just grinned like he had a secret bigger than all of Zaun. "I promise. It's worth it. Won’t take long—"

He stopped, searching the sky. Then he pointed. "There! Pow-Pow, look!"

Powder turned and gasped.

Fireflies . Hundreds of them, swarming over the black water like tiny stars that had fallen just for them. They flickered and danced, making the river shimmer like it was alive again.

It was the most beautiful thing Powder had ever seen.

But even with all that magic unfolding in front of her, she felt it—someone watching her. She glanced sideways.

Ekko wasn’t looking at the fireflies at all. He was looking at her. Smiling like he’d bottled up all the light in the world and saved it just for her. His eyes were so soft that it made her cheeks burn.

"Why do you always look at me like that, Ekko?" she teased, sticking out her tongue.

He flinched, ears burning. "N-nothing," he stammered. "Just glad you like it. Magpies like anything that shines, right?"

She laughed, nudging him with her elbow but not arguing. She dropped onto the ledge beside him, letting her head rest against his shoulder.

He smelled like metal and oil and something warmer, something safe.

"They're coming from over there," he said, pointing toward the smog beyond the river. "Do you know what that means?"

"Do you?"

"Not really," he admitted, grinning. "But I think it means there's a place where things are still alive. Where the city hasn't killed everything yet."

Powder frowned, the hope in his voice tightening something in her chest.

"Things are already dead, Ekko," she said, not unkindly. Just honest. "We live here because we have nowhere else. Life clings out of spite, not because it’s welcome."

Ekko didn’t answer at first. His jaw clenched, the way it always did when he wanted the world to be better than it was.

"But what if I'm right?" he said quietly. "What if there’s still something left worth saving?"

Powder pulled her knees up to her chest.

"If there was, someone would’ve found it already. Without anyone taking care of it, anything alive would’ve died out. Just like everyone else. Nothing stands on its own for long…"

"You’re such a pessimist for a kid who invents bombs shaped like bunnies," he muttered.

"And you're an optimist for a kid who keeps getting his bones broken," she shot back, grinning through the ache in her throat.

But then her voice softened.

"I just don't like seeing you sad, Ekko. Every time you dream too big, and the world crushes you again... it breaks my heart."

Ekko blinked, caught off guard. 

He opened his mouth as if to say something—something important—but then just smiled that secret, heartbreaking smile and bumped his shoulder against hers. 

Once again, Ekko locked eyes with her, the same strange gleam flickering there—the one she had seen earlier and hadn't dared name. 

This time, Powder didn't look away or question its meaning.

Above them, the fireflies spun, stubborn and shining in the poisoned air.

"What if I find proof of what I'm saying?" He spoke. Stubborn, hopeful, reckless.

Powder tilted her head, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. "Then I'll owe you something."

"Anything?"

"Whatever you want," she promised, the words falling out easier than she meant them to.

Ekko's smile cracked into laughter, breathless and boyish and too big for the rooftop they stood on. Powder felt it hit her like a punch in the chest—the light in his eyes, the way he looked at her like she was something rare and precious.

What was he planning to ask of her? She wondered, her heart skittering wildly.

Though deep down, Powder already knew. Win or lose, bet or not, if Ekko asked her from the bottom of his heart... she could never say no. Not to him.

The night grew colder, biting through the thin fabric of her cardigan. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. Ekko noticed immediately, as he always did, and without a word, he unwound his scarf and draped it around her shoulders.

Powder buried her nose in the worn, oil-scented cloth, feeling strangely safe and fragile at the same time.

Neither of them said much as they started back toward the Last Drop.

Powder hesitated when they reached the familiar alleys near home. She should tell him goodnight. She should send him away before Vi caught them and raised hell. But instead, she reached for his hand, squeezing it firmly, asking him to stay the night.

"Vi won't be happy if she finds me here," he mumbled.

Powder huffed a laugh, but there was no real humor in it. "Vi would scold me harder if she found out I left you alone out here. And..." She scratched the back of her head sheepishly. "I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing you were out here by yourself."

Powder smiled—a small, quiet thing—and laced their fingers tighter as if that made her stance stronger. Ekko looked like he wanted to argue, but whatever he saw on her face stopped him. He sighed, defeated but fond, and let her pull him along.

She led him into the old room where she slept with Vi, and without overthinking, Powder pulled Ekko down with her onto the bottom bunk. It was small, barely enough for one. They bumped knees and elbows awkwardly, laughing under their breath, but neither moved away.

Powder curled up close, feeling the steady rise and fall of Ekko's breathing against her shoulder. She closed her eyes, pressing her face against the scarf still wrapped around her neck, and decided—

If Ekko ever asked for anything... she’d give it to him. No matter what.

…

Jinx woke slowly, clawing at the memory of her dream like it might slip through her fingers if she moved too fast. She stayed frozen, desperate to remain in that half-forgotten summer that had once been her world. But the sunlight bleeding across her face burned it away, and she had no choice but to let it go.

She blinked, disoriented. Her pillow was damp against her cheek, her breathing thin and ragged — silent tears. She hadn't even noticed. At some point, her body had traded screaming for sobbing silently without asking her first. Was that better? Worse? She couldn’t tell. 

It was just another broken thing about herself that she didn’t know how to fix…

The memory already felt alien, like it belonged to someone else. A different lifetime, a different girl. Maybe it did. How had it rotted so badly? How had something so golden—so stupidly perfect—ended with blood on their hands, fighting in the ruins of what was supposed to be their safe place? How had she turned his gift — that beautiful gesture he had — into a weapon against him? 

The distance between them hadn’t killed their love. It had curdled it. Twisted it into something sharp-edged and heavy that dragged behind her with every step.

Before, loving Ekko had been as natural as breathing — something she didn't have to think about, something that just was. His name alone used to fill her with a peace so pure it almost hurt. Now, it strangled her. His name was a noose around her neck, and he was once again her worst best friend, her sweetest torment.

The time they'd spent together, scheming to save their crumbling home from Noxus, had been the highlight of her lowlife — a pathetic glimmer of what could've been, of what should've been, if her softest, stupidest dreams had ever stood a chance. But even then, even at its brightest, her happiness came crawling out of ruin, like a rat from a flooded gutter. 

Happiness never came clean to her; it was always stolen, stained, and splintered.

Like when she cobbled together a broken little family with Isha, even as Zaun bled out between the war gangs and the enforcers. Or when Ekko found her again, standing knee-deep in the ashes of everything she'd burned. He reached out to her, and she fell into his embrace in a heartbeat, not knowing why, not knowing what he'd even hoped to find by saving her. All he had was a single, stupid lead for her to find out the truth about his sudden change of heart: the Z-Drive.

That goddamn machine.

A machine stamped with her name, even though she'd never touched it. Never built it. It was her creation... but not her.

It was Powder’s.

That Powder. 

The one who never broke.

The one who grew up whole, bright-eyed, steady-handed, and full of promises she never got the chance to ruin. She lived in a Zaun that had clawed its way out of the dirt. She laughed like a girl who had never killed most of her family. 

And when Ekko stumbled into her timeline, lost and hollow, she was the one who patched him up. She was the one he kissed first.

Not Jinx.

Not the mess he left behind in the real world.

That perfect Powder — the one who deserved him — had stolen a kiss that Jinx never even had the right to miss. And Janna knew she hated her for it. 

She hated her more than she had ever hated anyone — hated her with a kind of sick worship, a gnawing, endless hunger that scraped her bones raw.

It didn't matter that she and Ekko were never officially anything. It didn't matter that logic said she had no claim, no cause to bleed like this for something like that. Jinx had never been logical with the things she loved. Love had always been a wound she kept digging into.

And this one was the worst of them all.

Because it wasn't just someone else who stole him.

It was the better version of herself.

A version she could never be, not even if she started over a thousand times. Not even if she died and was born clean, now that she knew that was possible. 

It was Powder who got the happy ending, for she was certainly happy with her Ekko. 

And it was Jinx who woke up every day choking on what was left of her life since she was five.

Maybe he had come back for Powder but found her instead.

Maybe he had found his way across a thousand broken timelines just to mold her into something better—something closer to her. 

Not Jinx. Powder. Jinx could be a vessel for his good intentions…

Maybe all along, he only saw her as something broken.

A busted watch begging for repair, like the ones at Benzo’s workshop.

Something to fix, not something to love.

Maybe he thought if he squeezed his eyes shut long enough, if he wished hard enough, he could still pretend she was there — the girl he remembered, he loved — and not the ruin that stood in her place.

Maybe that was why he kissed her.

Maybe that was why he touched her.

Maybe, through Jinx, he was just reaching for Powder one last time.

He said he loved her.

Her.

Not the memory. Not the alternate version.

Jinx.

But she couldn't believe it.

Because who, in their right mind, would ever choose the broken thing over the perfect one? Who would pick the jinxed one over the girl who was everything she was supposed to be? The only thing left pure between them was the grief he carried like a second skin and the regret she wore like a noose around her neck every day.

And still, she knew she'd made the right choice when she walked away…

Love was supposed to be selfless, wasn't it?

And Jinx... Powder... whatever she was — she had never been selfless. 

She would never be enough.

Even at her very best, she hadn't seen the world the way he did. She couldn't. She never would.

Where he saw ashes and built gardens, she only saw more things that could burn.

But she understood this much about life, after everything she went through:

Sometimes, taking a leap forward means leaving a few things behind.

And maybe she — skeptical Powder, damned Jinx — was the dead weight he needed to cut loose to finally grow.

It was only after she was gone that he dared to search for a better future. And he found it. The last living tree in Zaun. And around it, he founded the Firelights, a new family to help him move forward, aligned with his values and beliefs. 

All of that was a piece of hope he never could've built with her still clinging to him.

She tried — she really did — to imagine herself in that story, standing under that tree, smiling like it could ever be hers…but she knew better.

She knew she'd poison it just by breathing.

She knew better than anyone: everything she touched eventually broke.

Her death had been her sacrifice for him. 

And it had to stay that way.

Even if it killed her a little more every day.

Of course, Ekko would never have left her. Not really.

Whether it was out of love, or guilt, or some stubborn loyalty to the ghost of Powder—or maybe just fear of what she'd do if he left—Ekko wasn’t the kind to let go of lost causes.

So, her last great act of love had been to leave him first.

And even if she wanted to go back now — even if her heart screamed to undo it — she would stay dead.

Because she knew exactly how the world splintered when someone you buried, someone you mourned, clawed their way back. She wouldn't do that to him. 

Not to him. His sadness broke her heart more than her pain. She didn’t want to harm him again. So, she would remain dead for his sake. Even if it meant her daughter-or— or son— would never hear his laugh or know the peace that came from being loved by someone like Ekko.

"You’re the only pure thing that ever came out of us," she murmured, dragging her fingers over the faint swell of her belly. Only she would notice it. Only she would feel how wrong it was to call it small when it already weighed so much in her life. 

How many more weeks until the whole damn world could see? 

The thought was terrifying. And beautiful. And so, so much bigger than her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to the tiny heartbeat tucked inside her. "If I'd known you were there... I would've done everything differently. Just for your sake."

Because that’s what parents were supposed to do, right? Or at least try.

They did the best they could with the broken pieces they had left for their kids.

"I promise I'll fix this."

And by this, she meant everything. 

The wreck she called a life. 

The graveyard of promises of trying to do better that she never kept.

It hadn't been her plan to leave them fatherless. As an orphan, she would have never wanted that for her kid. It hadn't been her plan to be the only thing standing between her baby and the world but plans never mattered much to Jinx. Only the aftermath…

She pushed herself out of bed, ignoring the way her legs trembled and ignoring Ahri’s worried look from across the room as she devoured her breakfast quickly. She wouldn't let herself break now. Not that day, at least.

There were jobs to find — any scrap of honest work Bilgewater would throw at her.

Yeah, she had orders piling up — weapons for Miss Fortune’s crew and machines for allies who slithered through Snake Island looking for a little more firepower. 

She wasn’t complaining. She knew guns. Guns never let her down.

But she was desperate for something else now. Something less bloody.

Something that wouldn’t end with her daughter learning the art of survival with a rifle in her hands and a price on her head.

She wanted peace.

Even if it strangled her.

Even if it went against her nature.

Against her cursed, jinxed luck.

Because she owed her baby at least that much.

(...)

“I can do this for you. You don’t have to—”

“I have to. And I want to do it, Vi.”

Caitlyn’s voice cracked with guilt as she stabbed the shovel into the hard earth. “Juno was Mom’s good old lady. She didn’t deserve to die like this.”

The words barely made it past the lump in her throat. Juno had been shot — probably trying to protect Tobias, her late owner's companion — and died almost instantly.

She wasn’t the only victim. Caitlyn had paid for the funerals of the few staff who didn’t make it out alive and was still covering the medical bills for the ones clinging to life at General Hospital. Whenever she could, she visited them, whispered what little comfort she knew into the grieving chaos, even as her soul bled dry.

Vi stood helpless. She wanted to help, but no one had ever taught her how to fix something so broken. 

She understood loss — her own father, Vander, twice over — but this... this was worse. Uncertainty was a sharper blade than grief. Caitlyn didn’t even have a body to mourn. Tobias was out there somewhere... or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was already gone. Maybe he was suffering. Maybe he was calling for them.

Why hadn’t they asked for a ransom? Why take a man who only ever healed people, who wanted nothing from the world but to save it? And if Caitlyn had been there—

Vi couldn't finish the thought without feeling the ground tilt under her feet.

Burying the dog was the only break in the crime scene the enforcers had allowed — and even that only happened because Caitlyn had forced their hand. Armed with a revolver, three savage dogs ready to tear out throats for her, and a furious girlfriend at her side, no one dared get in her way.

Aside from that, the Kiramman Manor was still sealed off, a hollow corpse waiting for judgment.
 And until further notice, they were homeless.

"Let me help you," Vi said, reaching for the shovel. Caitlyn jerked away from her, stubborn even now. "Cait, you're going to wreck your wrist."

"I'm not that useless, Vi. I know how to use a shovel."

"I never said you were useless." Vi swallowed down her frustration. Fighting would only carve deeper wounds they couldn’t afford. "It's your wrist. The ground’s too hard; you're putting your whole body into it. If you tear something, you won’t even be able to hold a gun. Just—please—let me do it."

Caitlyn hesitated, trembling, before she finally surrendered. Instead of handing Vi the shovel, she curled protectively around the box that served as Juno’s coffin, clutching it like it might vanish from her arms. 

Vi dug, every brutal thrust into the dirt feeling like she was clawing through the wreckage of their lives. When the grave was deep enough, she coaxed Caitlyn into letting go of the box. The other three dogs whined low in their throats, circling the grave like mourners at a funeral no one knew how to conduct.

Vi, who’d never had pets — cats, maybe, if Powder hadn’t been allergic — still felt the ache of it. The loyalty, the sacrifice. It gutted her to watch Caitlyn kneel in the dirt, carefully arranging garden flowers over the grave.

"Thanks, Vi," Caitlyn whispered, wiping her hands on her ruined coat. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this..."

"I want you to drag me into anything that hurts you," Vi said roughly. "I'm here. And I'm staying here. You don’t have to do any of this alone."

"And I hope you know I feel the same," Caitlyn said, her voice barely a breath. "As long as you want me around, I'm not going anywhere."

"Then it's settled. No more apologizing for needing each other. We’re in this together."

Vi brushed mud from Caitlyn’s cheek, trying to bring her back to herself. "We have to start thinking about what comes next. Just so you know, you don’t have to take Sevika’s way. There are other paths, Cait. Don't let her corner you."

"It may not be the only way," Caitlyn said, her hands tightening into fists, "but it’s the only sensible one. If I act as a citizen, I’ll just end up back in a cell. We have to be smart. I don't trust her either," she admitted, her eyes shadowed, "but she won't want a civil war erupting under her rule. We don't trust her kindness, but her survival instinct."

"Yeah," Vi muttered, "rats like her are really good at surviving."

Changing the subject felt necessary, like surfacing for air.

"I think you should take Mrs. Talis’s offer," Vi said. "You’ve seen what’s left of The Last Drop. It’s ashes and splinters. I don’t want you sleeping on the floor in that hellhole."

"I'd rather do that than look her in the eye," Caitlyn said hollowly. "I betrayed her. And now those blueprints are gone, and we can only hope whoever robbed them won’t understand them…”

"You didn’t ruin anything," Vi said fiercely. "You tried to give Zaun a future. None of this was your fault, Cait. Even if she finds out... I think she’ll still forgive you. She loves you."

"She offered us shelter," Caitlyn said. "Not just me: you, the dogs, and I. I’m not going anywhere you can’t go, Vi. I don’t care how bad it gets. We're a team now. No matter what."

Vi hesitated. "Does Mrs. Talis know I'm from Zaun? That could cause... problems."

"She knows. And she doesn’t care. Viktor was like a son to her. She is not like the others, Vi. We’ll be safe with her. I promise."

Vi let out a slow breath. "Alright, Princess. We'll do it your way." 

Upon their arrival, Mrs. Ximena Talis displayed remarkable kindness. She not only served them delicious and unique dishes but also provided the comforting support that only a mother can offer during difficult times—the support they longed for.

(...)

Ekko was starting to lose his mind.

The ship felt like a coffin—wood and salt and secrets creaking beneath his boots.

The rush to find Jinx, that fevered, reckless urgency, had begun to rot into something worse: the cold realization that it’d be at least a week before he even got a glimpse of her. Maybe more. And out here, surrounded by strangers with knives and old superstitions, that wait was long enough to unhinge him. 

He couldn't sleep. He didn’t dare. 

What would happen if he closed his eyes for too long?

Would they take the Z-Drive while he dreamt? Toss him overboard as revenge for the docks? Or worse—offer it to the sea like some old, bloody ritual? He’d heard stories. Pirates believed in all kinds of gods—storm gods, sea gods, and hunger gods. They’d kneel to any monster that promised to keep them afloat. They’d kill for less…

Ezreal wasn’t entirely trustworthy either.

Sure, with him, Ekko’s life wasn’t in danger — just his secrets.

Ezreal meant well, but he was the worst kind of meddler, the kind who couldn't keep his hands off things that were better left alone. He had this infuriating obsession with the Z-Drive, picking at it like a scab that wouldn't heal.

The only real "advantage" Ekko had was that the damn machine barely worked anymore. Since he'd used it against Viktor, it had been half-dead, spitting out sparks like a dying star. Like a broken clock that's right twice a day, sometimes, when you pulled and twisted it just right, it stuttered to life. Most of the time, it didn’t. And that was fine by him. If it fell into the wrong hands, it wouldn't be the end of the world. 

Not yet.

He told himself he could fix it — when he had time, when he was home again, when Jinx was there to lean over his shoulder and point out all the things he somehow missed. She was better at tinkering than she knew, and he admired her for it. Smarter than she thought. Smarter than the world gave her credit for…

Every hour stuck on this cursed ship was an hour closer to her. That thought was the only thing keeping him upright.

Next time he had to cross half the world, he'd find a way to do it by air, no question.

He’d dreamed about flying since he was a kid — another half-formed wish that had birthed his hoverboard, now hidden beneath the warped planks of his bunk. Ezreal, mercifully, was too busy obsessing over the time machine to poke around and find it.

"If humans were meant to fly, we'd have wings. If all were meant to command magic, it would flow through all of us, not just the lucky ones. That's why Hextech was doomed from the start. The Arcane belongs to a few; it destroys the rest."

Ezreal’s intelligence terrified Ekko more than he liked to admit.

He was afraid to tell him what the Z-Drive was, afraid the warlock would call it what Viktor had once called it:

"An impossible machine."

Maybe it was forbidden. Maybe it shouldn’t exist. But Ekko didn’t care.

If saving Jinx from the abyss meant defying every law of nature, then so be it. He would deal with the consequences later. Without the Z-Drive, she would have perished before him, and she was the one person he couldn’t bear to lose. Those last few months filled with grief made him realize just how deeply he longed to be with her…

"Seasickness didn’t hit you as hard as it did those two. Your girl and the Tomb Raider," Rafen's voice jolted him out of his thoughts. "Though Jinx was knocked up, so I guess that doesn’t count. How old are you, boy?"

It was the first thing the captain had said to him since the dockside brawl days ago.

Ekko forced himself to answer, polite but cold. He still knew how to respect a chain of command — even when it belonged to an ass like Rafen.

"I turned nineteen a few days ago…."

Jinx, too, for she was just a few days older than he. Saying it out loud made it sound even more ridiculous.

Rafen’s mouth twitched, like the number had caught him off guard.

"You would've said. Even the worst prisoners get a free drink on their birthday," the pirate muttered, then sighed. "What’s your plan once we get to Ionia? Wander around until we find Ahri and Jinx?"

"I suppose so. At this rate, I’ll have plenty of time to figure it out," Ekko answered dryly.

"Yeah. Luck's not on our side. Our amulet’s headed for Demacia now..."

"Miss Fortune?"

The captain nodded.

"Why couldn’t she just step forward with this? If she felt so pressured to step on."

"I told you: practicality. She couldn’t afford to stay in Piltover with the risk of arrest hanging over her head. Besides... anything involving motherhood rattles her. It doesn’t change her good intentions, but she preferred to dump the harsh job on me."

"And you’re thrilled about that," Ekko said, just shy of sarcastic.

"Not even a little," Rafen growled. "I didn’t ask to babysit a lunatic’s kid. You seem sane for the father of her child. I know you’re pissed at me for calling her that, but I’m just being honest. I hate wild cards. Bilgewater bled for years under one. I know Zaun did too."

Ekko’s throat tightened. He wanted to punch the man — but worse, he understood him.

"...No more so than we bled under sane, cruel people," Ekko said, voice flat. "Jinx and I are two sides of the same coin. Take that as you will. I’m sorry Bilgewater suffered under madness. I hope that’s over now."

Rafen snorted. Tired, not angry. It almost made Ekko feel sorry for him. Almost.

"If this damn weather holds, it'll take us two weeks to hit Ionia. If we're lucky. But... there’s a faster way."

Ekko straightened. "What way?"

"The Sirens’ Cove. We’d make it in eight days. Maybe less."

"So, what’s the catch?"

"Sirens," Rafen said, his voice low and grim. "Ancient, starving things. Their song unravels you. Calls you into the water, mind and body, until you're just meat."

Ekko swallowed. Hard.

He'd heard the stories, sure — but in Zaun, monsters had names like chembarons or corrupt councils. Sirens felt... archaic. Like something from a fever dream.

"And how do you deal with them?"

"You don't. You repel them. Blood keeps them away — female blood. That’s why ships like the Syren, with mostly women aboard, are safe. Us? We’re all men. Bait."

Ekko hesitated, then said sharply, "So why not risk it? If we know what we’re up against, we prepare. Plug our ears, tie ourselves down. Whatever it takes."

"Kid, the sea doesn't work like that. Young minds snap first. Even with your ears blocked, you’ll hear them. In your blood. You’ll tear yourself free and dive before you even realize it."

Ekko’s fists clenched.

"And you think I’ll just sit here? Rot on your ship, waste weeks, while my chance to find Jinx — and the baby — slips away?"

He wasn’t yelling. Not yet. But the tremor in his voice was worse.

"You want to get back to Bilgewater? Fine. I want land under my feet and Jinx in my arms more than you could ever want to keep Miss Fortune’s damn throne safe."

Rafen studied him with a hard, merciless gaze. Ekko held it, even as his legs wanted to shake.

Finally, the pirate shook his head, almost laughing.

"You’re an idiot. Brave — but still an idiot. But maybe that’s what we need."

He turned, stepping away.

"I’ll speak to the crew. If they agree, we’ll take the Cove. But if you crack, little man, if you lose your mind —don’t expect anyone to jump in after you."

The deck creaked under Rafen’s boots as he disappeared into his cabin.

Ekko stayed where he was, staring out into the vast, endless blue around him.

The real danger wasn’t the sirens. Not in his mind. It was standing still. Wasting time. Drowning slowly, with no monsters needed. They needed to hit land soon…

(...)

"Already wrung Chross dry? Glasc? Or did you think you’d warm up by coming after the weakest chembaron first?" Margot grinned, sharp and lazy. "Underestimating me was never your style, Vika. Not even Silco was that arrogant."

"I’m not underestimating you, Margot," Sevika growled, voice low, tired. "You’re the only one with a brain left, that’s why I’m starting here. If you know anything about Ekko or Dr. Kiramman disappearing — if you’re tangled up in this shit even a little — tell me now. I’ll cover you, get you out of it clean. As for the others…" She cracked her knuckles, metal clinking. "I'd rather pin it on those lunatics and be done with them. Janna knows their greed will burn Zaun faster than your games ever could."

She stepped closer, voice pressing against Margot like a weight. "So. One more time, sweetheart. Do you know anything?"

Margot’s smile stayed, but her eyes cooled. "No. Not my circus. I’d only care if it meant losing customers — and last I checked, my business is still booming. If you want my advice?" She leaned in, voice dripping mockery. "You’re not scaring anyone tonight, sweetheart. I'm telling you the truth because lying isn't really my kink — and lucky for you, I’ve got nothing to hide. But others? They won’t show you the same mercy."

She paused, studying her like a puzzle. "You’re slipping, Vika. You look tired. When are you going to stop playing street hero with a bunch of snot-nosed brats?"

"I’m trying to fix this," Sevika muttered, almost to herself. "Believe it or not, every riot we ever started was supposed to mean something. Clean air. Freedom. A shot at life without Piltover’s boot on our throats. Not Shimmer dens and red-light districts choking the gutters. Silco, Vander... all of us. We lost the thread somewhere."

Margot’s smirk cracked into something softer. She bumped Sevika’s shoulder with her own — gentle, for her. "Sometimes I forget how ancient you are," she teased, but there was no bite to it. "My generation grew up knee-deep in that chaos you call hope. To us, it was just noise and dead bodies in the alleys. And it only got worse for the next ones — the orphans, the addicts, the kids sold for a hit of Shimmer. That’s your Zaun now, not some storybook dream."

She met Sevika’s gaze, unblinking. "You want to save this place? Stop chasing ghosts. Deal with the filth that’s here."

Sevika said nothing. Just nodded once, a heavy thing. Margot always did know how to gut her with a smile.

"I did hand you a lead, though," Margot said lightly, running a lazy finger down Sevika’s arm. "You owe me, Vika."

Sevika raised a brow. "Yeah? What was the big clue?"

Margot chuckled low in her throat. "Last time Zaun hit Piltover? They slammed a blockade down so fast it damn near crushed all our businesses. Smuggling dried up. Shimmer dried up. Blood everywhere. This time? Nothing. No blockade. No retaliation where it would actually hurt."

She shrugged, as if it was nothing, but Sevika saw the glint in her eye.

"Almost like someone asked for it to stay open. Like it was part of a deal. And funny enough, my Piltie clientele? They're mad about the good doctor vanishing, sure — mad enough to rough up some Zaunite civilians. But not mad enough to touch our dirty little trades. Not like last time."

Sevika’s gut twisted. Logical reasons, she reminded herself. Not just bitterness and fear. Real ones. Margot just handed them to her, and she couldn’t be more grateful.

Margot leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "Maybe to you, I’m a player in this sick little game. But to Piltover? I’m just a queen of whores they can party with, not someone to negotiate with. They don't see a chembaron; they see a night of forgetting."

She straightened, smoothing her skirts. "But my people and I make people happy. And happy people? They get careless. They talk a lot. We hear things we shouldn’t. I'll let you know if I catch anything... for a price."

Sevika narrowed her eyes. "What price?"

A wicked smile. "You back me up. Protect me. Once you remember how to put the fear of Janna into people again."

Sevika snorted. "Deal, Madame Margot."

She moved to shake on it, but Margot caught her by the collar and dragged her into a kiss that left Sevika dizzy, furious, and aching for more.

When Margot finally pulled back, Sevika tried to chase her mouth again, but Margot just laughed, slipping away to grab two glasses.

"To old sins," Margot said, pouring a dark, bitter liquor into both cups.

"And to Janna," Sevika added, voice rough, "and the winds finally changing."

Margot winked. "Sure, Vika. That too."

Chapter Text

The air was thick, briny, and mean. Storm clouds loomed low on the horizon, and the deck creaked with unease as the crew gathered around Rafen, who stood tall and pissed off beneath the lantern light.

“We shave off a week if we cut through Sirens’ Cove,” he barked, no room for pleasantries. “But it’s a deathtrap. We go only if most of you are mad enough to agree.”

Silence hit first. Then came the murmurs, tight and nervous like a noose. Scarred men glanced sideways, shaking their heads.

No one wanted to be the first coward, but the fear was already in their bones.

“I saw a ship vanish there,” muttered one broad-shouldered sailor, dragging his words like an anchor. “Screams all night, then nothing. Just the tide. You don’t outrun what lives in those waters.”

“And what about what lies behind us?” Ekko stepped forward, his voice cutting through the haze of uncertainty. “Storms are closing in on us, we’re losing track of time, and every single day we linger is another day she could slip away, another day where a storm could be our end. Do you really believe waiting it out is the safer option?”

Eyes snapped to him—young, foreign, desperate. But he didn’t flinch.

“You’re pirates,” he pressed. “You chose this life because you’ve got the guts to risk it. Or did I get that wrong? Maybe you'd rather rot at sea, one slow, pathetic hour at a time.”

A few scowled. Others looked away. Ekko’s jaw clenched. He wasn’t done.

“We know the rules,” he said. “Don’t answer the voices. Don’t look overboard. Don’t listen. We can survive this. I’ve got someone to get back to, and I’m not going to sit here while the ocean swallows my chance. So, what about the rest of you?” He scanned the deck. “You got someone waiting? Something to live for? Or did the sea already take that from you?”

That hit. A few grunted. One snorted dryly. Even Rafen gave him a look, half warning, half impressed.

“Careful, kid,” growled a sailor. “Talk like that’ll get you thrown overboard.”

But Rafen raised a hand, cutting the tension.

“He’s not wrong,” the first mate muttered. “Captain always says, ‘The sea is already set on killing us.’ Every day at it, we are refusing our fate, testing our luck.”

“We prepare the ship, working double shifts with everyone on high alert. We can cross the cove quickly and stay with the wind, and perhaps, just perhaps, we might make it and buy ourselves an extra week. Or we could stick to our route, steering clear of the cove as much as we can. But remember this: thanks to Bluebird’s change of plans, we’ll reach Ionia first, then head to Bilgewater. That’s over a month at sea with these storms.”

Someone muttered, “The boy’s from Zaun, right? Maybe Janna will favor him…”

“Or maybe we should tie him to the mast and hope the sirens take him first,” another joked. “Give them something fresh to chew on.”

Laughter broke the tension like a snapped rope. Uneasy, but enough. Heads began to nod. Not all, but enough.

Rafen sighed.

"Alright," he muttered with a growl. "If we're going to flirt with danger, then so be it. But the moment any of you start mumbling or inching toward the edge, you'd better secure yourselves to something—because if I have to throw you out, I won't hesitate!"

Later, with the crew scattered back to work and preparations underway, Ekko crouched over his workbench, hands greasy with half-disassembled parts. He felt Ezreal’s stare before he heard him.

“You know I’m not blind, right?” The blonde finally said, arms crossed. “That thing’s broken. And you keep pretending it’s not.”

Ekko didn’t look up. “You’re imagining things.”

“Oh, come on. I’ve seen you tinkering at night. You act like you’re hiding a loaded cannon in there. What is it? A time bomb? Hextech toy gone wrong?”

“It’s just maintenance,” Ekko muttered. “The last thing I need is it blowing up mid-jump.”

Ezreal raised an eyebrow. “Sure. Maintenance. On a machine you won’t even let me nearby. You’re a bad liar, Zaunite.”

Ekko didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Not without explaining too much. Not without risking everything.

But Ezreal, mercifully, shifted gears.

“Alright, alright. Keep your secrets,” he said with a shrug. “But hey… do you think the sirens are real? Like, really real? Melting-your-brain-with-their-song real?”

Ekko glanced sideways. “Guess we’ll find out soon.”

That gleam lit up Ezreal’s face again—equal parts explorer and maniac.

“Oh man, I hope so. I’ve never seen one. I mean, I should have by now, right? With all my traveling. Must be bad luck or something…”

Ekko exhaled. Not quite a laugh, but close. For now, at least, Ezreal’s attention had drifted from the Z-Drive to the monsters in the deep. And that was just fine by him.

(...)

"Have I made it into your book yet?" Jinx asked, flashing a crooked grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Ahri looked up from the weighty tome in her lap — General Psychopathology, its spine cracked from use — and gave a soft, restrained laugh, shaking her head. Somehow, Jinx always pulled reactions out of her that she didn’t plan on having.

“No. Not yet. You’re not as bad as you think,” Ahri said, voice calm as a still sea.

“Please. Don’t lie to me just to be nice.” Jinx slumped into the couch beside her, boots up on the cushions like she owned the place. “Although now that I think about it... why the hell would Sarah have something like that? Light reading for pirates?”

Ahri didn't even blink. “Same reason she keeps ancient Noxian maps, Demacian trinkets, and Ionia’s discarded poetry. Pirates steal. Eventually, they stop remembering why.”

Jinx snorted. “So basically, this whole place is just a glorified junk drawer.”

“Exactly.”

Jinx let the silence linger, fiddling with the edge of Sarah’s gift still tucked under her arm. Ahri bookmarked her page — a chapter on behavioral dissociation — and turned slightly toward her.

“Have I made it into your book yet?” she echoed, teasing now. “It claims to catalog all names of Runeterra. I should be in there.”

Jinx smirked. “Yes, it is in alphabetical order: A for Ahri. ‘Elegant, graceful.’ Do all Ionian girls get fairy-tale names, or did your parents just really want you to be unbearable?”

Ahri smiled, a soft and wistful expression on her face. “I was never given a name by my parents; I don’t even remember them, if they truly existed at all. It was a lover, an artist, who named me. I became his muse. Elegant and graceful… yes, that’s how he viewed me.”

Jinx blinked, her sarcasm faltering. “Wait... seriously? You don’t remember them at all? Did you hit your head or something?”

“No. It’s just been a very long time.” Her voice dipped into something older, something not-quite-human. “My first memories are with my pack. We lived on the edge of the world. If there was a family before that… I lost them somewhere along the way.”

Jinx stared. “You don’t look much older than Sarah.”

“My body stopped reflecting my years long ago. I’ve lived through things that existed before Piltover was even a concept. The last time I heard of Zaun, it was still Oshra Va’Zaun. Shuriman territory, Janna’s region. Piltover was just a dream no one had yet.”

Jinx tilted her head, her eye narrowing. “Yeah… Silco mentioned that once, I think. When I was thirteen. I didn’t exactly care.”

“You might want to. History doesn’t stop mattering just because it’s buried. Even if you never go back to Zaun, it’s still where your story started.”

That earned her a tight-lipped glare from Jinx. But no answer. 

The silence crept back in. It wasn’t uncomfortable — just dense, the kind that let old thoughts crawl to the surface.

Then Ahri asked, gentle as wind brushing silk, “Have you liked any names yet? Or are we still naming the baby after fruits until the mystery’s solved?”

Jinx scoffed. “That’s the problem. I like too many girl names, and boy names suck. I used to give my mom hell for naming me Powder, but maybe it really was the first thing she thought of. Gunpowder, drugs, something explosive. Who knows? How do you go from Violet to Powder, anyway?”

“Powder?” Ahri blinked, her voice like a ripple in still water.

“Oh—shit. Right. Never told you that, huh?” Jinx scratched the back of her neck. “Don’t wear it out, Ahri. I’m not a fan.”

“Violet and Powder…” Ahri echoed softly. “Sounds like two different people named you.”

“Yeah, well, lucky me, I don’t need to worry about matching sibling names. This is the second—and last—time I’ll ever name anyone.”

“Second?”

“I had the... misfortune of naming Isha.”

That was all Ahri needed. She didn’t ask. She didn’t need to. Their shared silences had grown long enough to hold meaning. She knew what that name meant to Jinx:

A grief too raw for words.

A longing deeper than what she carried for Vi or even Ekko, though those hurt too.

Memories too golden to touch, now stained by pain. 

And guilt. Endless, choking guilt.

Because in Jinx’s twisted maze of a mind, Isha’s death was her fault.

And still—

There was hope.

Because some fragile, stubborn part of her believed this baby was Janna’s way of rewriting their story. Giving them both another chance at joy.

“She didn’t talk,” Jinx said quietly, eyes fixed on some point on the floor that wasn’t there. “She understood everything, but not a single word came out. When I asked her name, she just shook her head. Tried to say something, but it didn’t make sense.”

Jinx took a moment to calm herself so she could continue speaking.

“That’s when I remembered. She was one of Chross’ kids. From the mines. An orphan. Probably never had a name to begin with. I asked if she wanted one, and she pointed at me. I couldn’t tell if she meant she wanted my name or just a name from me. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to let them keep calling her a jinx.”

She let out a half-laugh, bitter like rust.

“So, I offered her Isha. Short. Sweet. Easy to say. She loved it. Even made me teach her how to write it…”

There was more to it, of course. There always was.

Felicia—Isha, for short—had been her mother’s name once, or close enough. Her father used to say it with such warmth that it could melt any barrier. For a time, Jinx believed that was her actual name until Vi set her straight. Yet the memory lingered. Isha was one of the most beautiful names Jinx could imagine, holding a special place in her heart—a name meant for someone loved. So, she chose to give it to her.

“Even if this kid is Janna’s way of giving her a second chance,” Jinx said, voice cracking slightly, “her name won’t be Isha. That name belonged to her. Just her. And anyway…”

She smirked through it, even as her eyes went glassy.

“I don’t want to cry every time I say my baby’s name.”

Ahri tilted her head, the way foxes do when they see something fragile and rare.

“Good call, Jinx.” Her voice was quiet but steady. “I don’t know if you need to hear this, but… I think you’re going to be a great mom. You already are.”

Jinx muttered a soft, awkward “Thanks,” wiping her face with the sleeve of her jacket. She’d cried more in the last few months than in the last few years—and still, somehow, wasn’t out of tears. Ahri watched her with that ancient, unreadable calm.

“So... can I know the names? Or are they classified?” Ahri’s voice was velvet over glass—soft, but with a sharp gleam beneath. “Foxes are naturally nosy. Evolutionary flaw. Can’t help minding others’ business…”

“Alright, fine,” Jinx muttered, arms crossed like a half-shield, half-dare. “But no judging. Or I bite.”

Ahri smiled, slow and knowing. “Noted. Very specific threat. But judging isn’t my style.”

“And don’t expect anything all mushy or poetic,” Jinx added quickly. “I’m not that kind of crazy.”

“Of course not,” Ahri said, eyes rolling gently. “Absolutely zero mush. No sentimentality here.”

Jinx hesitated, chewing her bottom lip, then:

“I thought of Inna. After Ekko’s mom. Ever since he told me her name, it stuck. It means ‘strong water’ or ‘little girl,’ depending on who you ask. Both kind of work.”

She looked away.

“Only problem is, in Zaun they say naming a kid after the dead jinxes them. Literally. So… the workaround would be Nina. Same letters. Different enough to break the curse. Still means ‘little girl’.”

She shrugged like it was nothing, but her voice thinned at the edges.

“Ekko was always Little Man. Benzo used to call me Little Lady. ‘Little Girl’ fits the pattern.”

“That sounds sweet,” Ahri said gently.

“Don’t remind me.” Jinx scoffed, but it landed more like a wince. “I also thought of Mima. Means ‘dove’.”

“Peace and hope?”

“Yeah, right. Because I’m the poster child for peace and hope,” Jinx deadpanned. “No, more like... if Ekko’s the owl and I’m a crow or a magpie, then maybe she could be the dove. Different bird. Maybe a better one.”

She went quiet for a few seconds, chewing on thoughts like gum gone flavorless.

“I just... it’d be nice if she had the peace we never did.”

Then, like slamming a door:

“I also thought of Bonnie, but it sounds too soft. Not me.”

Ahri tilted her head. “Jinx... you’re already being soft. And that’s okay. It’s a baby. Your baby. It’s natural to—”

“Nope. Bullshit. I’m still the same. Still a walking disaster.” Her tone was cracked, brittle, and too loud. “And Bonnie’s off the list anyway. Sounds like ‘bunny.’ Mom used to call me that. I don’t want to copy her.”

Her voice dropped again, more whisper than snarl.

“I considered Lila. But that’s just ‘Violet’ in disguise. Too on the nose. Then I saw Iris. Rainbow and purple flower—two for one. Pretty. Less obvious. Vi wouldn’t feel too... claimed. Like I was handing her some kind of auntie-rights badge. She’ll never realize that's how I see it, but still. It’s not like she’d do the same for me, so…” She paused, lost in thought. “Anyway, I’ve still got months to figure this out.”

“They’re all lovely,” Ahri said, genuinely. “You surprised me. Honestly, I thought you’d go for weirder names.”

“Yeah, well, I thought of those, too. But then I imagined calling them in public and... No.”

Ahri smirked. “What if it’s a boy?”

Jinx let out a groan as if she’d been wounded. “Then I’m going to panic. You have no clue how tough it is to come up with decent boys’ names. I hated most of them.”

“But you’ve got options, right?”

“I thought of Enzo. Sounds cool and sharp. Kind of reminds me of Benzo. And it starts with an ‘E’—like Ekko. But it also sounds too serious. Can you imagine my son being serious? Please. Curse of the century.”

Ahri laughed softly. “Or the plot twist of the century.”

“More like a cosmic joke,” Jinx muttered. “I also had Felix.”

“I really like that one.”

“Yeah, well... it means ‘lucky.’ That’s the punchline. Imagine my kid being lucky. Irony levels are through the roof.”

“It also means happy.”

Jinx didn’t respond right away. When she did, it was quiet, a slow exhale of fear dressed up as sarcasm.

“Even worse. What if he ends up like me? That’d make the name feel like a cruel joke.”

“You’re the one tearing apart the names you picked, you know.”

“I had two names. Both sucked. I’m not passing that curse forward. The first gift I give, and it’s a lifelong trauma? Hard pass.”

“Jinx, you’re thinking about this more seriously than most parents ever do.”

“That’s what freaks me out. It’s like... like it’s making me feel things. All soft and raw and exposed. Just thinking about it leaves me wiped out.”

Silence stretched thin between them, delicate as a fraying thread.

Ahri could feel it.

Living in isolation on the island had sharpened her senses, tuning her into every small shift in Jinx’s moods. She didn’t pity her—Jinx wouldn’t want that, couldn’t stand it—but it still tore at something inside her. She wished she knew how to help more. The girl cried even after good dreams, as if joy itself hurt.

Ahri tried to share her stillness, her quiet, but Jinx’s pain cut through even her practiced calm.

She hadn’t felt this shaken by someone else’s emotions in years.

And beneath it all, there was something else. A gnawing sense of wrongness. 

Not from Jinx, but from the world around them. In the salt-heavy breeze, in the lull of the tide, in the shadows that gathered a little too easily around the corners of the shack, something was coming, and it felt like tragedy.

But of course, she couldn’t tell Jinx that.

The girl already carried too much. No need to add “creepy future-sensing fox spirit thinks we’re all doomed” to the list. So, Ahri kept her silence and stared into the dark outside, wary for both of their sakes.

“I’ve been thinking about cutting off the rest of my arm,” Jinx said suddenly.

Ahri blinked. “Okay... wow. You were in the book, then. Several times. Each time with a very bad prognosis. Should I be worried, Jinx?”

“Not like that! I mean practically. The stump’s useless. I can’t make it work. Every prosthetic I’ve built has sucked. I wanted to make a myoelectric one—you know, fancy tech, muscle signals, all that—but I’m working with junk and no experience. Even in Piltover, that stuff’s for the rich. All I’ve managed are clunky mechanical hands. They don’t fit. They don’t work. I can’t feel anything with them. It’s driving me insane.”

Ahri paused. Then, softly: “So you’re frustrated. You think if you make a cleaner cut, it’ll be easier to build something that fits. But... no. Jinx, no. There has to be another way. You’re not thinking clearly right now.”

Jinx looked at her arm, the place where it ended, her missing hand. Her expression twisted—not angry, just empty. Hollowed out. She didn’t answer, but Ahri knew the thought wasn’t gone; it was just buried. One more dangerous seed in a garden full of them. The girl was so impulsive, always on the verge of something; it had become a test for her nerves…

A sound interrupted their thinking.

A deep, distant roar that made the walls vibrate. Not thunder. Not the sea.

A cannon.

The rhythm of drums followed—offbeat, ritualistic. Like a chant clawing its way from the earth itself.

They both turned toward the open window.

“What the hell was that?” Jinx muttered.

“I don’t know,” Ahri said. Her voice was too calm. “But we should stay here.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

“Curious, not stupid. That didn’t sound like anything good.”

Jinx snorted. “You are fun at parties.”

Ahri opened her mouth to say something else, but it was too late. Jinx was already halfway to the door.

“Jinx! Wait! Just—don’t go running toward the ominous chanting!”

“You don’t have to come. I’ll just snoop around. Five minutes. Promise!”

And like smoke, she was gone before Ahri could stop her.

(...)

Ekko woke up shivering.

Not from cold exactly, but from the sensation of something cold—like ghost fingers brushing his cheeks, like frostbitten lips planting kisses across his skin, tracing a path to his mouth. A voice whispered to him, low and familiar, sweet as childhood lies.

When he opened his eyes, she was there.

Jinx.

Her hair spilled around her like a river of moonlit ink, curling over her bare body, concealing only what it chose to. Her eyes glimmered—mischief, warmth, home. She giggled like the kid she used to be, tugging at him with urgency, with the manic playfulness they’d had back when nothing hurt between them.

“Come on,” she coaxed, reaching out. “I want to show you something.”

He tried to touch her—he needed to—but she danced out of reach, laughing, always laughing, daring him to chase her like she used to do in the alleys of Zaun.

He sat up. His body felt wrong, heavy. The sheets wrapped around him like vines, like chains. His limbs dragged through molasses, but he followed her anyway. Of course, he did. It was her.

She stood by the door, a sheet loose over her shoulders, draped like a veil. And then—Ekko’s heart lurched.

Her stomach. Rounder now. Barely showing, but enough.

A child. Their child.

He blinked. He didn’t remember this part. He didn’t remember—

‘No. Don’t think. Just follow.’

All he could think about was chasing after her and holding her in his arms.

She vanished down the ship’s halls, her laughter echoing like a melody.

Something in Ekko’s brain pulsed—panicked and primal—telling him none of this made sense. The world felt warped. The air was too still. The silence was too loud. But his body moved anyway, legs dragging themselves out of the sheets that clung to him like seaweed or chains or maybe memories. Maybe all three.

His breath hitched. Each step forward was a fight. Something inside him—some fragile shard of reason—resisted. But it was useless. Jinx was waiting for him. 

She stood at the edge of the deck, moonlight slick over her bare shoulders, hair caught in the wind like a banner for the dead. Her smile was dipped in sugar and dynamite. Sweet, almost innocent—if innocence ever came with that look in her eye.

She let the sheet slip off her body. It hit the floor with a soft thud, forgotten.

"Come on, Ekko,” she purred, arms open wide. “It’ll be fun. The water feels amazing. Let’s jump in."

He stopped short. His brows knit.

Something—everything—was wrong.

“You… You can’t swim,” he muttered. “I can’t either…”

She grinned wider, too wide even for her. "Sure, I can. Learned in Bilgewater." She stepped closer, her voice softening to a plea. “I’ll keep you safe. I just want us to be together. Let me take it away—all the suffering—from you. Just let go, let go…”

Her hand reached for him. Fingers trembling. Desperate.

He didn’t take it. Couldn’t.

Because something about her was off. Too perfect.

Too smooth, too still, too unlike Jinx.

His gaze traced her features: the bright blue eyes, the flawless skin, the lack of scars that used to mark her like stories etched in flesh. 

Her perfect button, uncrooked nose, and big powder-blue eyes. 

Powder had blue eyes.

Jinx didn’t.

His stomach turned, a sick sort of clarity sinking in.

Then she blinked, and her expression cracked—soft, hurt, wide-eyed—just like on the bridge that night, just like when they were kids and she’d bite her lip to keep from crying.

"Why do you hurt me, Ekko?" she asked, her voice breaking like glass underfoot. "Why do you always leave me behind?"

It twisted something in him. Made him want to cry. Or scream. Or drown.

"You hurt me first," he snapped, barely a whisper, barely himself. “You always hurt me! And you left me! You are the one who always leaves us! YOU BROKE ME!”

Her voice trembled. “I just wanted to stop hurting. I just want you to stay with me…”

Her words curled around him like vines soaked in honey and rot. Her voice didn’t just speak—it echoed, ancient and soft, like a lullaby drowned under ten thousand waves.

His knees nearly buckled. But then—he looked down.

A sword.

Rusty. Forgotten. Someone else’s failure.

He didn’t think. He just moved.

A snarl tore from his throat as he lunged, blade in hand, and slashed.

The creature screamed—a sound so shrill and unnatural it made the sky crack.

Her skin shattered like porcelain, revealing what waited beneath: a bloated, slithering monster, more abyss than girl. Hollow sockets. Rows of teeth that didn’t end and iridescent scales. 

A body that twitched and oozed and bled with the effort of pretending to be Jinx...

The illusion fell screaming.

Ekko stumbled back, gasping. His heart pounded so loudly it drowned out the crash of waves, the crack of wood, and the screaming.

The fog in his mind shattered. The spell was broken.

And the ship—his last tether to reality—was now a real maelstrom.

Sailors thrashed and wept in midair, limbs tangled in invisible webs. Others, with glassy smiles, walked off the deck into the black surf, vanishing beneath with no splash, no scream. The tide welcomed them like an old friend.

The women fought like hell, eyes wild and blades soaked, but it wasn't enough. The mermaids were everywhere, cascading over the sides of the ship like oceanic insects—too many to count, too fast to stop.

And the men... the men were lost.

One by one, they tore off their earplugs, broke their bindings, and ran open-armed into dreams no one else could see.

Ekko didn’t hesitate. He vaulted toward the nearest scream and fired, his pistol burning hot in his hand. Luckily for him, he had developed the habit of sleeping armed. A siren shrieked as he shot her down. Another lunged from the shadows—he spun and slashed, severing pale arms that clung to a screaming sailor. The blood was black and oily, and it steamed upon hitting the deck.

But the sirens weren’t the only threat.

A pirate turned on him with empty eyes, shrieking, "Don’t touch her!" and swung a cutlass at his throat. Ekko ducked, elbowed the man in the ribs, and shoved him backward, straight into the waiting jaws of a mermaid.

Only three men still fought with him.

Ezreal, bound to the mast, channeled unstable energy with trembling hands. His veins glowed blue, light seeping from his mouth as he cast shielding runes across the hull, struggling to keep the ship strong despite the turbulent waters.

Rafen, silent and brutal, fought with animal precision, cleaving down sirens and hallucinating crew alike. He moved like he wasn’t thinking anymore. Just surviving.

And Ekko—Ekko heard them now. Their true song.

It was no lullaby. It was a symphony of grief and hunger, layered voices of the dead whispering in tones that scraped his mind raw. They said her name, a lot of names…

He gritted his teeth and kept moving.

Then—a scream.

Rafen.

Ekko turned—and saw it.

The captain stood at the edge of the deck, eyes wide with wonder, staring at someone who wasn’t there.

“Eileen…” he murmured.

Ekko followed his gaze and felt it: a presence, warm and impossible. Dark hair, bronze skin. Eyes full of love that had no place in a storm like this.

“Come home with me…” the vision breathed.

Rafen’s blade slipped from his hand. Blood trickled down his arm—three slashes, deep and glistening with the sirens’ venom. Their voice didn’t haunt him, but their blood did.

“Rafen!” Ekko shouted, lunging.

The captain didn’t hear. He stepped forward. Ekko tackled him, arms locking tight around his waist. Rafen thrashed like the possessed man he was.

“I have to go!” he barked. “She’s waiting for me!”

“She’s not there!” Ekko roared, heels scraping wood as he pulled with everything he had. “It’s not real!”

But Rafen wasn’t fighting him with rage. He was fighting with hope. That made him stronger.

Ekko pivoted. Changed tactics. He twisted their bodies and slammed them to the deck. Wood cracked beneath them. Blood mixed with salt in his mouth.

Rafen snarled, “Let me go, you brat!” and punched at him with dazed fury.

Ekko didn’t flinch.

He pinned him. Locked his wrists. Forced him to look.

“WAKE UP!”

His voice broke. “Your crew needs you. I need you. She's—she’s not real.”

Rafen’s pupils twitched. Confusion flickered. Despair.

He teetered between lies and truth.

Then—crack.

A single gunshot split the air. The mermaid collapsed inches from them; her blood hissed against the deck like acid would, burning. 

And Rafen… breathed as if he had been drowning. In a way, he was. 

One sharp inhale, like surfacing from drowning.

He blinked up at the sky as if to make sure it still existed.

Ekko let go. Slowly. Not entirely.

Rafen didn’t move. He just lay there, face blank, letting the silence swallow them.

Then, hoarsely: “Damn…”

Ekko arched a brow. “You owe me your life.”

Rafen grunted. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

The captain didn’t sound thrilled about it.

The ship lurched, finally tearing free of the cove. But at a brutal cost.

The sea behind them churned red, thick with blood and limbs, men and mermaid-like, mangled together.

The sirens’ screams faded into the mist, their songs unraveling into wails, grief in a language older than time. But on the Maelstrom’s deck, one siren remained.

The one that had worn Jinx’s face.

She clung to the planks, twitching. Broken—but not dead.

Scales sloughed off in patches. One fish-like eye gone, the other—human. Blue. Powder’s blue.

The same eyes that had loved him.

The same eyes that had destroyed him.

She moaned, and her voice wasn’t hers.

It was Jinx’s.

Or Powder’s.

Both.

“She needs to die,” a pirate growled, musket raised. “She’ll heal if we wait.”

But Rafen lifted a hand.

“Wait.”

The crew tensed. The pirate didn’t lower his gun.

Rafen, whose voice was like rocks scraping bone, turned to Ekko.

“Did she kiss you?”

Ekko blinked. “What?”

“During the illusion. Or after. Did she kiss you?”

The memory stabbed through him. Cold lips. A whisper like chains.

He nodded, jaw clenched.

Rafen cursed. Dragged a hand down his face.

“Then you’re immune.” He nodded toward the creature. “And she owes you an answer.”

Ezreal, still slumped against the mast, coughed. “If that’s true… she might be our only lead to Jinx. Ionia’s huge—we could use a clue!”

Ekko hesitated.

He didn’t want her voice in his head again. Didn’t want anything from her.

But if she knew how to reach his Jinx…

The siren raised her face. Bloody. Twisted. Mocking.

Not quite Jinx. But some echo. Some shadow. None of her softness. 

“Do you want to know where in Ionia your precious girl is?” She rasped. “Want to know where she ran after lying to you?”

Ekko didn’t flinch.

“I want to know where in the world she is. Where to go next.”

“Your love is more treacherous than my kind. She’s on the Serpent Isles. Near Bilgewater. She never left; she just didn’t want to be bothered by people from home.”

Silence fell. The storm cracked open for a breath.

Ekko felt the words splinter inside his chest.

Not Ionia. Not peace.

Bilgewater.

He turned away, numb.

Behind him, Ezreal let out a bitter laugh. “We risked everything chasing a lie. And now I finally get her damn name. That's lying, beautiful—fuck! Fuck her!”

He slammed a fist into the deck. Sparks lit up his fingertips. Magic jittered in the air—angry, hurt, loud. That was the first time Ekko saw Ezreal like that. It scared him.

“She bit the hand that tried to help her,” he snapped. “Fucking hell.”

Rafen didn’t answer. Just muttered, cursing Jinx and her bloodline for ages.

The crew whispered their hatred for her. Jinx is cursed. She only leads to ruin.

Ekko said nothing.

Didn’t defend her.

Didn’t damn her.

He just stared into the black water and wondered—

How much suffering would he bear just to find her?

Chapter Text

Despite Sevika’s grumbling that they should split up and “cover more ground,” Vi and Caitlyn stuck together.

Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe it was trust. Whatever it was, they still believed they worked better side by side—even if the world around them was crumbling. Working alone just meant tripping over each other in different directions.

Ekko was missing, and somehow that pointed to Ezreal Lymere—a topside brat Vi knew little about. All she remembered was that he used to wear shoes so shiny they mirrored the sky and had a smile that suggested he’d never faced a rough day. Now, he was calling himself a tomb raider. Naturally, only a rich kid would feel the need to play at being a privileged nomad. Caitlyn, naturally, had gone to tea with him or whatever uptown kids did to pretend their lives meant something in her teens. Her connection to him was the only reason they had a lead at all. Vi already hated him…

Caitlyn had spent years buried in books and case files, trying to decode the Undercity like it was a riddle. But all that theory never let her smell the rot the way Sevika could. Hell, even Vi—fresh out of prison and still shaking dust off her bones—could feel Zaun pulsing under her skin with a precision that impressed her.

“I needed names,” Vi once explained, her voice low and tight. “The people I would've gone after the second I walked free. Right after I found out what happened to my sister.”

They needed each other’s perspectives to piece this mess together. And despite the history, the bitterness, and the half-swallowed resentment, all three circled the same list of suspects: topside rats and undercity snakes. Different motives, same shadows.

“Vyx isn’t part of this,” Sevika snapped. “They’ve got nothing to gain from chaos. Margot’s the only chembaron left with half a conscience.”

“She also runs the brothels you frequent,” Caitlyn replied, cool and clipped. “Not exactly a glowing reference.”

“I don’t take moral lectures from you, princess,” Sevika growled. “If you want to waste your dad’s time chasing her, be my guest.”

“Watch it!” Vi warned, before crossing her arms and admitting. “Honestly? I have to agree. Margot was the least trashy out of Silco’s circus. Can’t see her diving back into a mess unless she’s bored or still pissed at Piltover. Which, to be fair, is most of Zaun.”

“My guess is Chross,” Caitlyn said, her voice dropping. “Or Renata Glasc. Was she ever one of Silco’s? I thought she operated on her own.”

“She did,” Vi cut in—sharper than she meant to be. “Didn’t answer to anyone. Never had to. Glasc was already queen of her empire before Silco even clawed out of the gutter.”

Sevika grunted. “Glasc wasn’t anyone’s pawn. Outsmarted us all. Got screwed over the same as the rest of us—by topside and Zaun alike. She worked with your mom once,” she added, nodding toward Caitlyn. “Built the first Grey-vent systems. Tried to stop people from suffocating in their own homes. She didn’t have much—just scrap filters—but she gave them away. Piltover didn’t even credit her for the blueprints they used as the base for today’s system. Shocker.”

Caitlyn’s lips pressed together. “She did well with the money she earned from her idea, and her company thrived afterward in both Piltover and Zaun. She could have walked away; she didn’t really need revenge. Still… I wouldn’t fault her if she wanted it. My father was part of the medical guild, and they despised her family’s alchemy—it made them seem obsolete. People whispered that someone from that guild ordered the Glasc estate to be torched. While my father was not involved, as he truly didn’t, he was still a resident there; that stain stuck to all doctors. My mother… she helped ensure the tragedy didn’t linger in the news for long. That’s what the records said, at least.”

“Sweet Janna, help us…”

“You have done worse, Sevika.”

“Don’t defend your in-laws, Vi! I’m sure they would still hate you.”

“Is that enough reason to target Glasc or not? She is powerful. Getting in trouble with her is only worth it if she indeed had something to do with the crime.” Caitlyn cut them off before they got into a fight. They often did, given their irreconcilable past.

Sevika let out a dry, bitter laugh. “She hates everyone. She’s not crawling back to Piltover—she’d burn it down first. The same goes for us. Silco fooled her once, with Singed whispering in his ear about Shimmer. She won’t sit with any of us again.”

Vi turned to Caitlyn. “She’s right. Glasc isn’t part of this—no way. If there’s some sick Piltover-Zaun collab brewing, she’s not invited. That just leaves Chross. That smug bastard ditched Piltover just to come ruin Zaun all over again. Before him—and before Silco—we still had scraps of dignity. Kids weren’t being sold or pumped full of Shimmer just to keep breathing. You heard anything, Sevika?”

“Nothing,” Sevika muttered, jaw tight. “People say he’s dead. But there’s no body. No trail. His crew’s either buried or rotting in Stillwater. No whispers. No sightings. What about you?”

“We don’t know either,” Caitlyn said softly, answering for them both. “But I don’t buy that he’s dead. News like that doesn’t stay quiet. He’s hiding. Waiting.”

Sevika shrugged, arms folding across her chest like a barricade. “Until I see him or his corpse, I’ve got nothing. And I’m not about to torch what little trust Zaun has left by shaking down our own like they’re criminals.”

Silence hit the room like chemical smog—thick, dirty, and toxic. The kind that settles in right before something snaps.

“I followed your advice,” Caitlyn said suddenly. “About not trusting even my own. And... I have a suspicion.” Her eyes narrowed. “The Ferros.”

“Same,” Vi growled, lips curling into a crooked grin. “I hate that bionic bitch.”

“So, what’s going on here?” Sevika asked, her tone flat. “Are we all just pointing fingers at her out of spite, or is there a valid reason behind this?”

“There are reasons,” Caitlyn snapped, sharper now. She pulled a half-melted, almost pathetic-looking device from her coat. “A few days ago, at the hospital. Lennox’s wife—he’s one of our butlers—gave me this. He said he tore it off before the attacker passed out. It looks like a Ferros tracker. The kind that’s not sold. Not even the black market. Enforcers get them for missions; that’s it. So, either it was one of us... or someone with access to tech way too expensive to be lying around in alleyways.”

Her voice dropped. “I was pulled from the case because I’m ‘too close.’” The words came out like poison. “But Steb’s still on it. He told me something else: the bullets they pulled out of the bodies? Enforcer-grade. Official issue. But in the report... they’re missing.”

Sevika didn’t flinch. “So, what do the Ferros gain from all this?”

“Before Hextech, they were the crown jewel of Piltover when it came to technology,” Caitlyn said bitterly. “My parents backed Jayce. Then the Talis took the spotlight, partnered with my family. The Ferros lost the throne. And they don’t forgive.”

“So, this is a grudge match?” Vi said, skeptical. “That could be enough to at least keep them from Tobias’ case, couldn’t it? And to speak out to the council? Half of it is Zaunian now. They will be thrilled at the prospect of this not being all our fault…”

“You think the other half wouldn’t love an excuse to call in troops?” Sevika pointed out.

“They’re looking for one,” Caitlyn said. “A pretext. Any pretext. And the Ferros are powerful. We can’t just get rid of them.” Caitlyn added quietly, eyes flicking to Vi.

“I believe you lead, girls. It’s just…not enough. Especially since the way you got all that information was illegal and they probably will use that as a crappy excuse to not listen to it. No, we can’t accuse them yet. What about Ekko? You are looking for him, aren’t you, Vi?” 

It wasn't about sentiment; it was a matter of strategy. Ekko was the only one capable of soothing Zaun’s unrest without igniting new conflicts. Sevika could establish control, but true calmness? That’s something only Ekko could offer. She needed that.

“We’re seeing someone today,” Vi said, arms folded, voice like distant thunder. “Professor Lymere. Ezreal’s uncle. He may know what his brat is up to.”

“We are?” Sevika raised an eyebrow. “Still stuck at the hip, huh?”

“Zeri wouldn’t talk to Cait without me. And that fossil wouldn’t talk to me unless I pointed a gun at his temple. But Caitlyn is a Kiramman. Everyone wants to play nice with the aristos.” Vi smirked at her, sarcasm softening into something else. “Sometimes, being from a stuck-up family does help.”

Caitlyn met her gaze, and her smile, small and crooked, was real.

Sevika grunted, already turning toward the exit. Playing third wheel wasn’t her thing. Let the lovebirds play politics. She’d do what needed doing—her way.

(...)

“I still don’t get how you broke the spell,” Ezreal said, watching him closely. “I had a thousand enchantments on me, and they still tied me to the mast, just in case. The others plugged their ears and prayed. But you? You were wide open. No runes, no charms, not even a warding circle. Just ropes around the bedposts. And you broke them. Are you sure you’re not secretly a warlock, Ekko?”

Ekko didn’t answer.

He hadn’t slept properly in days.

Whenever his eyes closed, the same nightmare swallowed him whole: torn limbs, gutted sailors, and mermaids crying for their mangled tails. He always woke up shaking, drenched in sweat, or worse, already standing, eyes vacant, wandering the deck like a ghost. One night, he nearly walked straight off the plank. No music. No spell. No siren song in the air. Just… silence.

Except for the one he had mutilated.

The crew refused to let her die. Revenge had rotted their hearts too much for mercy. They bled her and called it medicine. Forced her to regenerate, only to slice her open again. Over and over. She screamed, and every time, it sounded like Jinx.

Ekko hated it. He hated what they were doing and hated that he didn’t stop them. 

He hated how her eyes sometimes looked at him, not like a monster, but like a girl he once knew. The shape of her jaw, the curl of her lips, the panic in her voice. Powder’s voice.

But he had no right to hate any of it.

If Rafen hadn’t stepped in, he and Ezreal would’ve ended up in the same cage—or worse. They were scapegoats now. The expedition had been a disaster. Jinx was never in Ionia. Just another lie. Another ghost chase. And the price had been blood.

“My debt to you is repaid. Is that clear?” the captain said flatly.

No one thought it was fair. But no one argued. They knew they'd lose.

The return to Bilgewater was just as stormy as the way out—maybe worse—but at least now the pirates had hope. They were going home. They had a mermaid in their hold, a trophy, a story worth telling. That was enough to keep morale afloat, even with their hatred of outsiders, of each other... and of Jinx. The girl they blamed for every damn misfortune.

“I don’t know,” Ekko muttered eventually. “Something inside me knew it was wrong. All of it. But I couldn’t hear it. It was like I was underwater before I even hit the sea. Then a breeze hit my face... and I saw her.”

His voice cracked like something rusted and sharp.

“Her eyes and nose were Powder’s. Her hair was Jinx’s before she chopped it all off. She had both hands, but you told me she lost one. That she has a hook now. None of it fit. None of it made sense. And then... I attacked her.”

That was what haunted him the most. Not that he’d fought a monster. But that, even knowing she wasn’t real, she still looked like Jinx. She sounded like her. She said things Jinx would never say—things Ekko would’ve given anything to hear, even once.

“I’ll keep you safe. I just want us to be together. Let me take it away—all the suffering—from you.”

For a moment, just a breath, it dulled the pain he carried like a second spine. The ache that started the day Powder died, the day Jinx chose Silco. The day she left him behind. But it wasn’t real. The mermaid was just twisting his grief, weaponizing it. And the only thing that had been truly his was his answer.

“You hurt me first. You always hurt me! You left me! You always leave us! YOU BROKE ME!”

He’d screamed it at her, but in his head, it was Jinx he was screaming at.

She left when she chose Silco. She kept leaving, even after Silco died, making choices like he didn’t exist. Like he was just... background noise.

She’d left again when she let him believe she was dead. Just when he was starting to believe maybe, maybe they could build something new. Something better.

He knew life wasn’t clean. That Jinx had her reasons. That he had failed her, too. That he'd given up too early too many times. But none of that mattered when his heart kept betraying him. It hated how much he still loved her.

Who in their right mind would want their greatest comfort to also be their greatest torment?

And what he hated most was not knowing which part of him would win when he saw her again—the part that would breathe again just to know she was alive... or the one still bleeding out for everything he’d lost because of her.

“What I still don’t get,” he said quietly, “is why you tied me up and waited for ‘nothing bad to happen.’”

Ezreal shrugged. “Rafen said it was safer that way. Asleep, their songs only give you nightmares. The ropes were in case you woke up. But you… You’re the first one who moved during the chant. First to snap the ropes. First to break the sirens’ control without help. That’s why the captain’s watching you now. You impressed him. I think it was Janna. That breeze before you wake up—your people are her people, after all.”

“She didn’t help me when I begged her to. Why would she now, when I resent her?”

“Then I’ll stick to my original theory: your love for Jinx is so deranged, it snapped you out of it.”

“I didn’t know you were so sentimental.”

“I’m not,” Ezreal snorted. “But what else could explain why you’re still out here, chasing that lying maniac through sky, sea, and land?”

There was venom in his tone, but Ekko didn’t bite. He just let out a bitter laugh.

“Your mistake was taking Jinx at her word. She’s never been good at honesty.”

“And that makes it my fault?” Ezreal snapped. “She was a mess. I figured she wouldn’t think to lie. She seemed sincere, alright? When she said she didn’t want any more violence... that even though letting me go was risky, she was done fighting. I mean, what the hell was her plan for Bilgewater, then? But I bought it. That’s on me. Won’t happen again.”

Jinx wanting to leave violence behind.

Ekko didn’t know if that was a joke or a prayer.

Even as a kid, Powder hadn’t been peaceful—no peaceful kid tries to build bombs out of junk just to make the others clap. Chaos wasn’t just part of her. It was her. He didn’t think she could ever really outrun it. But damn it, he wanted her to try.

Not for Zaun. Not for redemption. Just… for her. So, she’d stop bleeding alone in the dark. So maybe one day, she'd stop believing that was what she deserved.

He hoped whatever storm had swallowed her whole this time would stall. That he’d get there in time. That this time, he’d be the one who showed up first. That they'd stand shoulder to shoulder like they used to.

Because time always slipped through his fingers when it came to her.

And Jinx wasn’t some damsel in distress. She never had been.

But that didn’t mean she had to suffer on her own.

“I hope you’re right, Ezreal.”

“About what?”

“Everything.”

“I probably am,” Ezreal shrugged. “My only mistake was trusting your Lady of Chaos. But that’s on her, not me. Still… I think she meant it when she said she was trying to do better. People usually do when there’s a kid involved.”

Right. The kid.

He forgot sometimes. Like his brain filed it away in some drawer labeled too much.

But it was real. 

And somehow, that made his need to find her crackle like a live wire. 

She shouldn’t be alone, not like that.

Ezreal didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he did and just pretended not to. He kept talking.

“And yeah, she still loves you. If you were wondering. When I tried to convince her to come back, she said she didn’t want to keep hurting you. That missing someone doesn’t kill you. That you were strong in ways she wasn’t. Whatever the hell that meant. She said Zaun needed you, not her.”

Ekko looked away. His throat felt like rust.

Of course, she said that. It sounded like her—like someone trying to set herself on fire before anyone else could do it first.

“She seemed to think your happiness and hers can’t exist in the same timeline,” Ezreal said. “That’s messed up. But she sounded sure. And you—wasn’t your whole deal fixing Zaun for the people left behind? She seemed to be sure she would ruin all that you ever wanted…”

“All I ever wanted,” Ekko said quietly, “was a home.”

But what he didn’t say—what pressed into his ribs like a buried knife—was that once, home had meant her.

Just her laugh bouncing off the walls of their old hideout.

Just the two of them, building stupid gadgets and even dumber plans.

Just... them.

“Yeah,” he added dryly, “building a better Zaun was part of that. But I don’t get why she always makes it a binary choice. Her or the mission? Makes no sense…”

“Because she’s Jinx. And she’s so used to setting everything on fire, she thinks she doesn’t deserve what doesn’t burn. I may not know her well, but I got that.”

He reached into his coat and pulled out a small gold talisman, the kind that shimmered like oil when it caught the light wrong.

“Here, it took me a while to get it ready. The siren’s probably still in your head. This should keep the nightmares off your back. Keep it under your pillow until Bilgewater. Then toss it into the sea. Let the ocean deal with her curses.”

Ekko eyed the thing. It stared back, smug and strange.

“I don’t like magic.”

“Yeah, well, you like nightmares less. And don’t give me that look—you don’t get to be skeptical now.”

“After everything?” Ekko muttered, taking the charm. “Skeptical is all I’ve got left.”

But he turned it in his hand, anyway, letting its jagged markings glare up at him like they knew too much. Like they were judging him for needing it.

“And in the end,” he asked, softer, “was it worth it? Casting spells and tying yourself to listen to them?”

Ezreal laughed, dry and tired.

“Not really. They sounded just like Seraphine, honestly. Next time, let’s just buy tickets to one of her concerts.”

They both laughed—worn out and raw, but real. Then they drifted apart, back toward their duties. Because after the cave, after everything… the only punishment left was carrying the weight of the dead.

(...)

Professor Lymere greeted them in a robe, a chipped teacup trembling faintly between his fingers. Time had carved deep shadows into his face. 

His thinning blond hair had long since turned a tired gray, and the spark Caitlyn remembered from childhood, when he’d tutored her in geography and history during polite, forgettable afternoons, was now buried under grief. 

The deaths of his younger brother and sister-in-law had dulled him. His nephew’s long, cryptic absences had hollowed out what was left.

Only his eyes still knew things.

After the usual pleasantries—condolences for her mother, formal well-wishes for her father’s case, small talk about the weather and “the good old days”—Caitlyn, as always, cut to the point.

“We’re looking for Ezreal, Professor.”

A pause. The eyebrow lift was mild, but not without skepticism.

“And why, may I ask, are you ladies so interested in my nephew?”

Vi shot Caitlyn a glance—unreadable but sharp. When she spoke, her voice was rough, blunt, all gravel and impulse.

“We think he’s involved in someone’s disappearance. We’re not here on official orders… But if we have to rough things up to get answers, we will. Caitlyn’s going easy because she cares about him. I don’t. I just want my friend back. So. Are you going to help us or not?”

The air in the study thickened. Lymere set his cup down atop a leaning stack of dusty books and sighed, the kind of sigh that came from a place deeper than lungs.

“I haven’t seen him in half a year,” he said, rubbing his brow like it ached with the truth. “And not for lack of trying. That boy’s been a ghost since he was seventeen. Always slipping through cracks, always chasing something.”

Vi reached into her jacket. What she pulled out gleamed dully in the low light—a small, Hextech talisman. Just big enough to fit in the palm of a hand. Unmistakable.

Ezreal’s.

Caitlyn recognized it instantly. So did the professor.

Lymere’s expression faltered. For a second, something inside him fractured—but he gathered himself before it fully broke. He gave a slow, resigned nod.

“All right. You can check his room. I meant it when I said I haven’t seen him. Ezreal’s a master thief. If he wanted to sneak in and out without a word, he could. He’s done it before.”

A beat. Then, softer: “I don’t go in there anymore. He hates it when things are moved. And somehow, he remembers exactly where everything is. Don’t ask me how. Feel free to look around but be careful.”

They made their way down the hall, boots creaking against warped floorboards. Just before they reached the door, the professor called out again—his voice firmer this time. Paternal.

“Ezreal may be a lot of things… But he wouldn’t take someone’s freedom. If you find something that proves otherwise, I’ll help you bring him in myself. Just—don’t hurt him. Please. Now, if you’ll excuse me… I’ve got reading to get back to.”

And strangely, despite everything, both women believed him. The man looked just as desperate for answers as they were.

Ezreal’s room was a disaster—deliberately, chaotically wrong.

The air hit them first: old oil, sea salt, worn leather, and something half-alive. Scrolls lay curled on the floor like dead snakes. Books with broken spines. Wrappers. Mismatched boots. Burnt-out trinkets.

“Does Ezreal live here?” Vi muttered, nose wrinkled. “My cell was cleaner than this.”

Caitlyn didn’t answer right away. She was already moving—carefully, precisely, like her mind was working two steps ahead of her feet. This wasn’t chaos to her. It was a pattern. Noise waiting to be filtered.

“He doesn’t live here,” she murmured, crouching by a strange patch of grit on the floor. “He passes through.”

Vi knelt beside her, scooping a bit between her fingers. The texture made her frown.

“Sand?”

“Coastal sand,” Caitlyn said. “Not the alley kind. The only place in Piltover with this texture is the harbor.”

Vi scanned the room again. Something in the pile of clothes snagged her attention: a bleached shirt, weather-beaten and stiff with salt, with a crude drawing scrawled in black ink—a pirate skull tangled with a mermaid, bleeding ink like it had been stabbed. The art was messy but familiar in a way that made her stomach twist.

She froze.

It wasn’t exact. But it echoed something. The kind of chaotic, jittery graffiti that once covered the walls of Zaun. The kind Jinx used to paint while giggling to herself. Or—back then—Powder, scribbling in corners while Vi warned her not to get caught.

“It can’t be…” Vi breathed.

Caitlyn didn’t press. She watched, quiet and still, letting Vi fall into the space between past and present. She knew that look. Knew better than to pull her out too fast.

So, Caitlyn moved on.

The bed was a mess, but the sack left on it wasn’t. Its contents jutted out like artifacts: serpentine pieces of metal, a compass with too many needles, a net gun no bigger than her hand, and a dagger—curved, bone-handled, coral-tipped.

“This isn’t junk,” Caitlyn murmured, holding the dagger with gloved fingers. “All of this… Bilgewater. My father had a blade just like this. Clean, though. Less rust. More polish.”

Vi let out a low whistle. “Weapons collector? That’s creepy.”

“Mother hated it. Father and I… didn’t.”

Vi smirked. Didn’t comment. She sifted deeper into the sack and found something that didn’t belong: a long, crimson feather. Big. Heavy. Definitely not from a local bird.

“He was there,” she said, gripping it tightly. “And judging by this mess… he left in a hurry. Doesn't look like he planned on coming back anytime soon.”

“Or he didn’t leave alone,” Caitlyn said softly. “If Ekko was with him, they could’ve gone by sea. That means the harbor…”

Vi nodded, jaw tight. The trail was clear, but something about it itched. Bilgewater. Graffiti. Ezreal. Ekko. Ghosts.

It was all dragging her backwards—toward things she’d buried deep, and deeper still.

She didn’t like it.

“Fine,” she muttered. “Let’s check the docks. Someone’s bound to remember a blond idiot with too much swagger and not enough sense.”

Caitlyn stood, slipping the dagger into a cloth pouch. It felt heavy in her hands. Not as evidence—just as something real.

“And a white-haired genius who’s going to get lectured into the floor for leaving without so much as a note,” she added. “A thief who steals from a thief is forgiven for a thousand years, right? Ezreal won’t miss this…”

And with that, the two set off toward Piltover’s harbor—partners, lovers, opposites. Following a thread of truths, half-truths, and fading footprints that led deeper into the fog.

(…)

Jinx hadn’t seen a crowd like this since Progress Day, though Piltovian parades didn’t reek of brine and blood. 

The torches here didn’t sparkle—they howled, with a green-blue flame that cracked like bone. Drums pounded low and steady, like the lungs of a sea monster about to wake. No singing. Just moaning voices in a language that felt older than stone, dredged from the ocean floor. Not a celebration. A sentencing.

Jinx hunched in Ekko’s old jacket, threadbare and salt-stained, one hand cradling the swell beneath it. Before, she would’ve laughed. Made some joke about the crusty seaweed tunics or tossed a firecracker just to see them jump. 

But now… now she just wanted to vanish.

She didn’t know the local religion—hadn’t cared to. But now, she knew enough. That wasn’t for show. It was a warning. It made her feel uneasy. As if she had to go…

To slip into the crowd before anyone noticed the shimmer in her eyes…

“The sea tests us again,” boomed a voice like a cracked bell. “With foreign winds. With poisoned tides. We must prove ourselves. Or drown.”

The priestess stood atop black coral, bangles jangling with every sharp gesture. Her words were blades—cutting, holy things. 

Winds. Foreign winds. Janna, spirit of the wind and protector of Zaun. 

She meant her.

The crowd murmured, a sickly, shivering sound. Jinx turned to leave, silently, instinctively.

“You.”

The voice hit her like a harpoon in the spine.

The mob parted around her, water pushed back by a greater force. All eyes locked onto her like barnacles latching onto the hull of a dying ship. And above them, the priestess—towering, storm-eyed, unshakable—descended her platform like the wrath of the sea made flesh.

“Do you think the sea does not see your foulness?” She roared, every word laced with foam and fury. “Do you think your stench does not betray you?”

Jinx’s legs quivered. Her fingers curled. The old impulse sparked—laugh, mock, blow it all up—but she was unarmed. Alone. Pregnant. She couldn’t just be aggressive. 

She couldn't stop talking, though, so she lifted her chin and said,

“Are we talking about my exquisite sense of fashion…?” Her smirk twitched, crooked and bitter. “Or my gunpowder perfume? The latter should be enough to warn you, you damned, shitty fanatic, not to provoke me. What's wrong with you?”

One wrong word, and she’d ignite.

“You brought ruin to our shores,” the woman thundered, her voice low now, heavier than before. “You, and the curses festering inside you.”

It wasn’t just aimed at her. It was aimed at what she carried.

Jinx flinched like she'd been shot. She couldn’t breathe for a second. She wanted to scream, to weep, to obliterate the world—but she stayed still.

No. Not here. Not now. Not while someone else needed her…

“My ‘curses’,” she said, her voice razor-sharp with barely leashed rage, “are none of your damn business. I’ll kill anyone who tries to touch us. And I don’t need your sea-god’s blessing to stay alive.”

Jinx’s eyes locked on hers. Gleaming. Unblinking.

“She’s a fanatic,” Jinx hissed to the crowd. “You follow her, and she’ll drag you down with her!”

“You are cursed,” the priestess snarled, breath thick with salt and wrath. Her voice crashed like surf against the rocks. “You’re not just a foreigner. Not just a heretic. You’re a thief.”

Her gaze dropped—burning, condemning. 

Jinx followed it down to her trembling hand.

Sarah’s ring. It flashed gold in the sun. 

She jerked it behind her back, too late.

“This isn’t— She gave it to me! She’s my friend! I don’t—”

“Silence!” Her roar split the air, and for a moment, it felt like the sea itself held its breath. She raised one arm, and the tide seemed to recoil in reverence. “The unworthy don't deserve to live. And cowardly rats don’t deserve hands.”

She charged, a living tidal wave, a vessel of something older than gods. Her blade—a brutal, ceremonial thing—gleamed in the torchlight like a divine verdict. 

It aimed for Jinx’s one remaining hand.

Jinx barely twisted away.

Coral scraped her shoulder; blood bloomed.

She let out a sound between a scream and a snarl—animal, primal.

The priestess loomed, vast and inevitable. A sacred monster.

“Don’t touch me!” She cried, her voice cracking, caught between defiance and begging.

Then, as the woman ignored her plea and tried to stab her, she snapped.

She didn’t fight like a warrior. She fought like a mother cornered, like something feral.

Jinx lunged, claws out, teeth bared. Her metal fingers tore into her bicep. Her mouth searched for skin to tear. It was chaos versus order, madness versus meaning. It wasn’t even a fight. It was survival.

Her attacks barely slowed the priestess, but they unbalanced her just enough.

And Jinx knew how to use “just enough.”

With a wild scream, she ripped a torch from its iron sconce and smashed it to the ground. Oil hissed.

Fire devoured the sacred fabrics in a heartbeat.

Smoke clawed the sky. Panic erupted.

It almost felt like being back at home…

But unlike most of the fires she had set in her life, she didn’t stay to watch it burn.

She ran.

For her life.

For her baby’s life.

She darted through the chaos, panting, one hand on her belly as if trying to hold the child in. Each step lit a new fire inside her, a twisting pain, a warning.

Behind her, a voice thundered through the flame and smoke.

“HERETIC! I’ll tear off the hand you use to insult the gods! I’ll rip out that filthy tongue that dares defy them!”

Jinx didn’t look back.

The beach became sludge under her feet. The ceremony, a war zone behind her.

The jungle swallowed her—wet, dense, and breathing.

She kept running until pain dropped her to her knees.

A spear had flown past, so close that the heat of it kissed her ribs.

She gasped and fell hard, water and mud slamming into her. Stones bit into her skin.

Behind her, the priestess advanced like a tidal force, blade raised in ritual silence.

Jinx couldn’t move.

The pain was too much.

She could only shudder, helpless and terrified, as she begged for their lives…

And then—

The air changed.

It chilled.

The wind turned wrong. Like it was moving backwards and cold despite the climate.

From the shadows stepped someone…

Ahri.

Jinx nearly sobbed with relief.

But even that didn’t smother the pit forming in her stomach.

Ahri’s golden eyes gleamed like cursed coins. She was beautiful, calm… and terrible.

“Enough, Illaoi.”

Illaoi halted—not from fear, but from something more brittle and dangerous. Rage, old and restrained.

“Take one more step… and you’ll die here.”

Soft voice. Deadly promise.

“I won’t let you touch her…”

“You.”

Her voice cracked with disbelief. And disgust.

“Of all creatures… you. What are you doing here again, Ahri?”

Jinx stayed crouched in the mud, ribs aching, but her eyes flicked between the two figures now locked in a stare.

They weren’t strangers.

That tension… that weight… It wasn’t new.

There was blood between them. Or something older.

“What the hell…?” Jinx whispered. The pain in her side pulsed. “You’ve met before?”

Ahri didn’t blink.

Didn’t look at her.

Her eyes were fixed on the priestess, burning with something deeper than hate.

Something colder. Older.

It wasn’t fury in her face—it was history. 

A history Jinx couldn’t read but felt all around her, like smoke from an unseen fire.

A story carved in scars and silence long before she ever stepped foot on Bilgewater

Why didn't Ahri warn her about the dangers of Illaoi's presence on the island? 

In that moment, Jinx felt it—

Not just the pain, the fear, the panic.

Doubt.

Real, creeping doubt.

For the first time, she wasn’t sure if Ahri was truly on her side.

For the first time, she wondered if she'd ever been. If Sarah were to blame, too.

The chaos wasn’t just fire and running and screaming.

It was in their eyes. In their silence. And it was coming for her.

Was it too late to run away again?

Chapter Text

“Jinx, you need to calm down—”

“You don’t fucking get to tell me what to do! Stay the fuck away from me!”

“Jinx, you can’t be serious!”

“Oh, I’m dead serious. What is she doing here? Get her OUT! I’m leaving!”

Jinx hurled whatever was within reach, cursing the irony of not finding a weapon despite weeks spent surrounded by them. Her hands shook too much to aim properly, and everything missed just barely.

“She’s here because I invited her,” Ahri said, her voice measured. “And if I did, it’s because this needs to be settled. I know you got off on the wrong foot, but Illaoi acted out of fear and loyalty to Sarah. She saw you as a threat. If you both tried to see past that—”

A wooden spoon flew from the kitchen and splintered against the wall, inches from Ahri’s head.

“That was too close,” Ahri muttered. “You are being irrational, Jinx.”

“I’m being irrational?” Jinx snapped. “See past what, exactly? The fact that she stabbed me in the shoulder? That she tried to kill me and my baby? That maniac came at me with a spear, Ahri! Forgive me if I don’t want her in the same room as me. And if you and Sarah are such good friends with a fanatical bitch like her...”

Her voice broke. She lowered her eyes and focused on rinsing her knees with filtered water. Her shoulder was already bandaged, but the sting of betrayal ran deeper.

“...then maybe I shouldn’t have trusted either of you so blindly.”

She’d embedded stones in her skin during the fall. Neither Ahri nor Illaoi had convinced her to accept help. Jinx preferred pain over being touched by people she now saw as threats—or worse, liars.

“I understand your anger toward me,” Illaoi said gruffly. “But don’t take it out on Ahri. She saved you. She saved both of you.”

Silence thickened the room like fog.

“If I’d known you were pregnant…” Illaoi added, softer, “I never would’ve attacked. You don’t look it. And I never meant to say anything cruel about your child. I would never call it a curse.”

“Well, being pregnant doesn’t make me a saint,” Jinx shot back. “But not being pregnant shouldn’t have earned me a death sentence. I don’t want your pity. Or your god’s.”

She turned to Ahri, her voice hoarse. “And you—why didn’t you tell me it was dangerous to live next to that temple? Or was the plan to wait until I got killed before bringing it up?”

“My plan was for you not to snoop around the temple,” Ahri replied, calm but firm. “If you don’t believe in the goddess of your people, the one who’s blessed you more than you know, why approach the god of the sea? But yes—the attack caught me off guard. Sarah was honest when she said outsiders aren’t welcome here, but they’re rarely this hostile. What was that about, Illaoi?”

“I thought she was with the Zaunite crew that docked last week,” Illaoi answered. “Shimmer in their blood and coins in their pockets. Trading with the dumbest sharks on the island. She looked more like one of them than the Siren’s people. Are you and Sarah together, kid?”

“Pff, NO!” Jinx barked. “Vi and I didn’t even share toys without putting on a fight first. You think I’m going to share her?”

She yelled from the kitchen. She refused to step into the dining room. If it were up to her, she’d already be halfway to Dr. Goode’s for her last checkup before disappearing to anywhere but Bilgewater. Her mind and her gut agreed for once: anywhere was safer than this house.

“Excuse me?” Illaoi said.

“Vi is her sister,” Ahri clarified. “And Sarah’s friend. The ring can cause confusion, but it’s done its job. It marked her as Siren. Ally. Fiancée, if people want to assume. No one dares touch her with that ring—hurting her would be like declaring war on the Queen herself. Don’t worry, Illaoi. If Sarah didn’t kill you then, she won’t now.”

“I hope you’re right,” Illaoi muttered.

“What do you mean, ‘then’?” Jinx asked, frowning.

“If you want to know,” Ahri said, “sit with us. I don’t like talking to someone who won’t look me in the eye.”

Illaoi shifted uneasily. She truly seemed to regret her actions. Ahri, however, didn’t waver.

A few minutes later, Jinx returned. Her knees were bandaged, and to their surprise, she carried a tray with three steaming cups and a mismatched plate of cookies she and Ahri had baked the day before.

“I think tea helps the nerves,” she muttered. “Or so Silco used to say. I was going to make some anyway. Figured I’d make yours too.”

She handed them the cups. “I tried to find matching ones, but since Sarah’s stuff is all stolen from other ships... well, no sets. Don’t let the xenophobe think we’ve got no manners in Zaun.”

“You don’t even know what that word means, brat,” Illaoi snapped. “That man and his people brought nothing but chaos to Bilgewater.”

“I’ve been here almost a month. I don’t know who you’re talking about. And I don’t care.”

“That’s true,” Ahri said. “She came because I promised her the truth. About why Sarah forgave you last time. And I keep my promises. But it’s a long story.”

“Then you tell it,” Illaoi grunted. “You’re gentler with words. And the Great Kraken knows this one wouldn’t believe me if I said the sky was blue.”

“This one has a name,” Jinx said without looking at her. “It’s Jinx. And you’re right—I wouldn’t trust a word from a fanatic. That alone shows poor judgment.”

“Ironic,” Illaoi muttered, “that the girl most likely to end up in a madhouse calls me crazy.”

“ENOUGH!” Ahri snapped, her voice sharp as glass. Both women flinched. It was the first time she’d raised her voice. “A few years ago—less than five, I think—we fought to stop Gangplank from resurrecting the Ruined King. A cursed being who spreads death like rot. We weren’t from the same crew, but we had the same goal: stop him, or all of Runeterra would fall.”

She exhaled slowly.

“I didn’t come to Bilgewater for that fight. None of us did. But the threat was bigger than any grudge. And in that battle... we became something like allies.”

“But how could Gangplank summon something like that?” Jinx asked. “Sarah told me she became Pirate Queen at eighteen, when she mutinied and burned his ship. Was she lying?”

Ahri and Illaoi exchanged a long look. Illaoi was the one who answered, her gaze low.

“She didn’t lie,” she said quietly. “Sarah did kill him. Shot him. Tossed him to the sea. And she became the youngest queen Bilgewater had ever seen.”

She hesitated.

“But he didn’t die. Not really. The sea gave him back. And I… I found him on our shore. And I healed him.”

“And what made you think curing the most feared and hated man in the seven seas—the same one who orphaned Sarah and wreaked havoc on Bilgewater and Runeterra—was a good idea, Illaoi?” Jinx laughed, incredulous. “Not even my wildest ideas come close to that level of stupidity.”

And with that, Jinx reaffirmed what she had always suspected: Miss Fortune’s heart of gold. If she had been the one facing the enforcer who killed her parents—and someone had saved him from her vengeance—her heart wouldn’t have hesitated. She would have killed both of them—one for retaliation and the other for being a hindrance.

“The sea told me he was worthy of saving.”

Jinx laughed. But not humorously. She laughed to keep from crying in frustration, to keep from grabbing the teapot and smashing it against that thick, empty skull.

“Did the sea find him worthy?”

At least she’s already drunk the tea... Jinx thought, counting the seconds for the poison to take effect. 

She’d wanted a quiet life, yes... but that didn’t mean she’d forgive anyone who endangered her daughter. Anyone who hurts them. Anyone who made her feel this broken, this weak and insignificant, again. She wouldn’t be weak. She couldn’t be.

“So, I’m the threat?!” she blurted out suddenly, as if the words burned inside her. “Me? The one who hasn’t done anything to anyone on this damned island? Nothing to anyone who didn’t deserve it. Because Janna knows I don’t regret blowing the hand off that jerk who grabbed me. Is that who I am? The monster threatening Bilgewater’s chaos? While he—that murderous pig who slaughtered half the city—is worthy of being saved?”

“The sea doesn’t judge by the rules of men, child. It’s not a mother. Not a comforter. Not justice. It’s strength. And strength—it respects. Gangplank was many things—horrible things—but he was never weak. That’s why he survived. That’s why the sea didn’t swallow him whole.”

Illaoi turned to her. Her gaze was as heavy as a sentence passed. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in it.

“You, on the other hand, came running. From the past. From your crimes. From your ghosts… and your affections. You faced nothing and no one. You were willing to die for your land, but dying is easy, Jinx. Living for it... That takes courage. And now, with a child in your womb, you still prefer to run instead of fight. And you want the sea to deem you worthy? The sea is not Janna, child. It doesn’t blow to lift the fallen. It sweeps away the weak and drowns them in the deep.”

“How convenient!” Jinx spat the words out with a cynical laugh. “That’s how you justify anything, huh? ‘Oh, the sea told me to.’ Please. And you call yourself a priestess? A fanatic for a god that rewards the biggest bully and spits on scared girls? What a twisted faith... what a stupid faith.”

“You’re not weak because you’re scared, Jinx. You’re weak because you don’t trust anyone. Because you don’t believe in anything. Not in yourself. Not in others. Not even in your worth, and so you never act bravely. A goddess blessed you, and you still doubt. That’s what the sea rejects. Gangplank, monstrous as he was, believed himself invincible. Sarah knows she’s powerful and righteous. Both of them, though so different, have iron wills. You, on the other hand, only know how to destroy what you love when it gets too close. That’s why you run. That’s why the sea fears you... or despises you. I don’t know. But I felt its rejection. And it was because of you. And because of the addicts in your city, weak in body and spirit, drinking poison for the illusion of pleasure.”

Why hasn’t she died yet? Jinx thought, horrified. She’d used every poisonous product she could find without raising suspicion: pesticides, mild toxins... everything to ensure a quiet, clean death. And yet, the only one who hadn’t finished her tea was—

Ahri.

And she, after everything she’d just heard, simply whispered:

“You don’t have to believe in the sea.” She didn’t look up from her cup. Her voice was soft and steady. “But you do have to decide if you’re going to keep running... or if you’re going to fight for your place in the world. Not for us. Not for Sarah. For you. And for your baby.”

Jinx looked down. She wasn’t ready to answer. But she didn’t stand up to leave, either.

Ahri brought the cup to her lips.

And Jinx froze.

What if she accidentally switched the cups? What if—?

Without hesitation, she snatched the cup from Ahri’s hands and hurled it against the wall. The crash of the ceramic made everyone jump.

Ahri stared at her, stunned. Then realization dawned in her eyes.

Horrified, she screamed:

“JINX O’CONNOL! WHAT DID YOU PUT IN MY TEA?!”

“Nothing in your tea. It was in hers. But considering she’s still alive and divine as ever… I think I mixed up the cups. My mistake. The pregnancy has me a bit... distracted. It won’t happen again.”

“I don’t think you mixed them up, maniac,” Illaoi interjected with a crooked smile. “As a priestess of the Isle of Serpents, I possess many virtues tied to snakes. Among them, immunity to all poisons. No wonder it tasted so bitter—I drank it not to offend you, but it was awful.”

She leaned back and sighed.

“My point is just because you’re unworthy now doesn’t mean you always will be.”

“Thank you?” Jinx muttered, raising an eyebrow.

“As long as one lives, there’s hope for redemption. So, I profess. And while Miss Fortune and I may disagree on many things, I know she’s right when she says, ‘The same pressure that forges a diamond can crack a pearl.’ That doesn’t make either less valuable, just different. Maybe what you’re experiencing now is just that—pressure. Maybe it’s shaping you into a stronger, brighter version of yourself.”

Illaoi looked at her intensely. For the first time, her voice carried no condemnation.

“Or maybe not. That depends on you. What I can assure you is this: I’m not the only one who thinks you’re cursed. Those who’ve truly known you may see the truth, but the rest of Bilgewater will lump you in with the monsters of your city. Be careful.”

“I haven’t stopped sensing danger in the wind… or in the sea,” Ahri added. “Maybe Illaoi is right. Wouldn’t it be wiser to stay on the island, at least for now? Far from Bilgewater. We can’t sail blind somewhere else. We don’t know who’s truly loyal to Sarah and who isn’t. Given your condition, it might be too dangerous.”

“On this island? Full of fanatics that she convinced I’d bring ruin?” Jinx bristled.

“You didn’t help yourself by starting a fire,” Illaoi said pointedly, then sighed. “But I’ll make sure no harm comes to you. I’ll speak the truth. I was wrong.”

“And won’t that make you unworthy?”

“Jinx, stop,” Ahri cut in, exasperated.

“It’s cowardly not to face the truth. And I… I may be many things, but I’m not a coward. And while I know it shouldn’t change things for me—every life is precious in its way—it weighs on me that you’re going through this while pregnant, that I almost harmed someone who didn’t deserve it. It weighs on me even more to say this: until things settle, you shouldn’t return to Bilgewater. Not even to see a doctor.”

“Everything I do—or don’t do—is for my baby,” Jinx replied, her voice trembling. “Why should I stop doing one of the few things I can do for its sake?”

“And what good will a doctor do you if you’re shot on the way there?” Illaoi snapped.

“Well, that’s a matter of comparing risks and benefits. Have you been feeling bad lately?” Ahri asked gently, trying to sound calm. “Anything in particular worrying you?”

“No… not really. The nausea’s gone, and that was the worst part. The insomnia and nightmares were already there before the pregnancy. Just because they’re worse now doesn’t mean it’s the baby’s fault. I’m more tired, sure, but I think it’s from not sleeping well. The only weird thing has been the sneezing. Is it normal to sneeze so much without being sick? I don’t have a fever, no cough, no runny nose… Maybe it’s the dust in the house, but I don’t know.”

“And that worries you?” Ahri kept her tone gentle.

“That… and how fast everything is growing. Not just my belly. My hair, my nails, too… they’re out of control. Growing exponentially, not linearly—and that freaks me out. I know it’s not super noticeable yet, but a few days ago, my belly was almost flat. Now you can see it. Shouldn’t it be growing slowly? Like the books say?”

“What’s the difference between linear and exponential?” Illaoi asked.

“Linear is slow, even—one, two, three, four. Exponential is chaotic and fast—two, four, sixteen, two hundred fifty-six. That’s how everything’s been growing in me these past few weeks. And I’m not complaining about having a mermaid’s mane—I missed my long hair! But it feels… unnatural. Or at least weird. Or is it normal?”

“I guess? I don’t know, Jinx. You’re the first pregnant woman I’ve lived with in centuries,” Ahri admitted with a half-smile. “I’ve never been interested in motherhood. I probably know less than you…”

“And I’m a priestess,” Illaoi added, her voice deep and resigned. “I gave up all things carnal long ago. The only mothers I deal with are the ones who bring babies to be blessed… or the ones who come crying about losing them. But you look fine. Yes, you’re fine. Worrying too much won’t help either…”

“Old priestess, ancient vastaya… And yet I, the brat, am the one who knows the most about this,” Jinx groaned, rolling her eyes. “And now you’re telling me to stop going to the doctor? Just my damn luck.”

She knew, deep down, that they had a point. Her fight with Illaoi had made it obvious: she didn’t have the same agility. Or the same stamina. She was… vulnerable. And she hated to admit it. But denying it didn’t help either.

“The accelerated growth of your hair and nails could be due to the mermaid meat you consumed and the Shimmer still in your system,” Ahri explained, her voice taking on an analytical edge again. “In your case, the anabolic effects predominate. At least that’s what Dr. Goode noted in her files…”

“You read her notes?”

“Of course. To keep an eye on you.”

“Did Sarah really let you eat and drink the sirens’ blood?” Illaoi turned to her, surprised. “She must really love you. Hunting one of those creatures costs dozens of lives. Its value is immeasurable. Appreciate it.”

“I do,” Jinx whispered, lowering her gaze.

And yes, she did.

She missed Miss Fortune.

With her, at least, there was one clear boundary: her word.

With her, she felt… safe.

“What’s the name of the guy who arrived?” Jinx asked. “I’m the closest thing Zaun’s ever had to a princess. Maybe I know him. I can tell you how urgent it is to get rid of him…”

If someone from home was threatening Sarah’s territory and she could help stop him, of course, she would.

That was loyalty—one of the few worthy things Silco had cultivated in her.

“Princess?” Illaoi raised an eyebrow.

“The worst part is, she’s not exaggerating,” Ahri said, amused. “Do you know who he is? Jinx might be able to help, even just with information, if it comes to confronting him. Maybe he’s not a stranger to her…”

“Chris? Frost? Crust?” Illaoi snorted. “Can’t remember his name. A cripple.”

“Illaoi,” Ahri rebuked, her voice firm. “That word is cruel.”

“And his aristocratic manners as he poisons people on my islands are, too. So, I don’t care.”

“You mean Chross,” Jinx said instantly, freezing.

Chross.

One of Silco’s chem-barons. The one who ran the Shimmer factories and mines. The one who enslaved orphaned children—the same children shattered by the Shimmer.

The one whose men chased Isha the day Jinx met her.

A Piltie who only ever descended from his golden tower to ruin lives. He had no tragic past, no higher cause to justify his cruelty, only ambition.

He had always disgusted her.

Silco, equally repulsed, had tolerated him out of convenience. The end justified the means—until the means became her. And that hesitation cost him his life…

But Jinx never forgave. Not after what Chross did to Isha.

Like Silco. Like Vander. Her line was family.

Chross had harmed her child, and now, he was in Bilgewater.

It felt like the universe had served her revenge on a silver platter.

For Isha, for all the kids not lucky enough to be taken in by Silco while the chem-barons and enforcers razed everything in their path to gain power over Zaun…

“The sea wasn’t wrong about him,” Jinx muttered. “That bastard deserves to die in pain. Him and his dogs.”

“Is he weak beyond the body?” Illaoi asked.

“In body, mind, heart, and soul,” Jinx said without hesitation. “And the worst kind of weak—the kind that preys on people who can’t fight back. He’s a piltie rat. No wonder he fled Zaun the moment he had a chance… What surprises me is how. I didn’t think he owned a ship. No one back home does—except for Piltover eccentrics who fish for fun.”

“He arrived on a fishing boat,” Illaoi said. “That’s why people noticed him. He didn’t feel like a pirate. Maybe he kept some of that Piltovian eccentricity when he became a thug…”

“Maybe. I’ve never met him in person. But I know he has to die. Dead dogs don’t bite, right? If you don’t want Shimmer leaking into your islands, hang him. Let me know when you do—I want to be there. Seeing it will help me sleep at night. At least I know he’s not in Zaun anymore… I hope Margot holds what’s left of the chem-barons—if Sevika lets her. She, Silco, and Isha were the only things Leftie and I ever had in common, albeit in very different ways…”

She chuckled darkly.

“If it weren’t for Margot, I would’ve hung myself when I got my period. I swore I was bleeding out. If only she’d told me how to avoid the brats, not just how they’re made…”

And just like that, still muttering to herself, Jinx turned and left, leaving both women with more questions than answers.

(...)

Ekko was dreaming—but not the soft kind that slips away with the sunrise, nor the salt hallucinations born of sunstroke and warped time on the high seas.

No. This was a memory wearing a fever dream’s mask…

Jinx had woken up shivering that night—the night before the battle for Piltover and Zaun—soaked in sweat and silence, refusing to tell him why.

He’d asked, and she’d just shaken her head, pressing her lips shut like even one word might crack her open. So, he stayed, arms around her as the tremors passed. Then she squirmed away, mumbling something about finding something important…

But she didn’t come back with answers. She came back with cans of neon paint. His paint. The kind he used to tag blueprints and mark escape routes. The kind she used to paint his world instead.

She crawled into bed and, without much explanation or grace, drew a crooked pink X across his chest.

“In case you get lost,” she whispered. And smiled—that maddening, beautiful smile, half-mischief, half-devotion. The kind that only ever looked right on her, Jinx…

He should’ve said no. Should’ve pressed her, should’ve asked what woke her up crying. But the war was breathing down their necks, and time felt thinner than usual.

He didn’t have the heart to resist. He never had when it came to her. 

That’s how the game began.

He answered by tracing slow lines along her collarbone, shoulder, and ribs—caresses disguised as brushstrokes.

The paint shimmered between them, glowing like arcane glyphs.

Laughter. Kisses. Tangled fingers. Neon smears across skin, like they were casting spells to make the night stay. Possession disguised as love. Or maybe love disguised as possession. Like thunder and lightning, both feelings always seemed to come together between them. 

But just as his mouth pressed against the pink-smeared curve of her neck—just as he whispered her name, like she’d begged him to in recent weeks—she tensed, setting off his alarms. And then:

“Why are you hurting me, Ekko?”

Her voice splintered something in him. The heat vanished.

He froze. Looked up.

Her eyes weren’t pink anymore.

They were blue.

Bright with tears. Drenched in fear.

Blood trickled from her nose. Her lips trembled. Her mouth moved like she was searching for some spell that might protect her from him.

That face—it was the same one from the bridge. 

The one who looked at him like he was a monster.

Like he’d broken her.

Ekko woke up screaming.

It took him seconds to identify the Maelstrom’s ceiling.

Reality came back jagged and cold.

He was still trapped.

Still far from Zaun. From her. From everything he cared about.

His skin was soaked. His muscles shook.

That was the first nightmare since Ezreal had enchanted his sleep.

For a moment, Ekko had dared to hope the spell would keep the memories at bay.

But clearly, not.

Not when even the best ones could turn. Rot. Betray him.

He reached under the pillow. The amulet was gone.

“…Ezreal,” he muttered, teeth gritted. But something in his chest whispered that the mage hadn’t touched it. Ezreal wanted him safe. Ezreal wouldn’t—

He stumbled out of the cabin, barefoot, heart thudding like war drums behind his ribs.

Below deck, the siren waited. Chained. Half-drowned in her tank.

Her skin shimmered blue-violet, like bruised glass left too long in the sun. Her breath came shallow, wet.

In one twisted hand, she clutched the amulet—held it like a stolen secret. Like a dare.

“Give it back,” Ekko said. Hissed, really.

But he didn’t step closer. Not yet.

He was afraid.

Afraid of her.

Afraid of what she might say.

She smiled. Or tried to. A curl of cracked lips and something that might’ve been mockery or pain. Her eyes were wrong. One pink. One blue. 

Neither human. Neither kind.

Her face flickered. Powder. Jinx. A stranger. No one at all.

“You confuse me, Little Man,” she said, in that lilting, slivered voice—like a lullaby composed by a blade. “In your mind, I see three girls. All wearing the same skin. But none of them match. Are they sisters?”

She leaned forward, wheezing, dripping, still smiling like she knew the end of the story.

“Two with blue eyes. One with pink. One has a crooked nose from too many breaks. One has laugh lines, though the other two never laugh. Their scars don’t align. Their tattoos argue in different dialects. They don't fit. Not even close.”

Her head tilted—like a bird, like a corpse, like something hungry.

“Don’t you recognize your beloved, Ekko?” She purred. “No wonder she left you.”

“I recognize her perfectly,” he spat. “That’s why you’re like this. You couldn’t fool me.”

“Did you enjoy the dream?” she said, twirling the amulet. “You cheat. I thought we were having fun. Wandering your mind is the only entertainment I’ve had on this place.”

She pressed a palm to the glass, where the metal cuffs dug into her skin.

You see, I dream too. Of my sister. Of the absolution, I never got. In that regard, your girl and I are not all that different. We both ache. We both rot.”

Ekko’s voice cracked like a match. “Is Jinx suffering?”

“What do you think?” She shot back—and this time, her face cracked. The grin twitched. The mockery slipped. “She suffers. I suffer. You suffer. Isn’t it beautiful? I rot in this tank while you play martyr, and she plays mad. So yes, I bite your dreams. Yes, I dig through your grief like a crow. Why not? I don’t create—I remember. I echo what’s already there. What you fear. What you still love. They’re tied together, tighter than bone. Tighter than anyone else on this ship: that’s why you are my favorite.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want to be free again,” she whispered. “Set me free. You don’t even have to let me go.”

Ekko took one step forward. Just one.

“So… how do I do it?”

The siren raised a trembling hand and beckoned him closer.  And Ekko obeyed.

He didn’t know why.

Curiosity? 

Compassion? 

The echo of Jinx’s voice, soft and broken, still tangled in his ears?

Maybe it didn’t matter.

His sanity was already unraveling, thread by fragile thread.

“You only have to listen,” she whispered. Her voice cracked like a record warped by salt and time. “My sisters sing to me—always. Day and night. Their songs are full of blame. They say I condemned us all with my half-truths. With what I didn’t say… when you asked me about her.”

Her eyes shimmered—too bright, too knowing. A storm trapped behind glass.

“I didn’t lie. But I didn’t tell the whole truth either,” she murmured, pressing the amulet to his chest. “When I pay my debt, I can leave. So, listen well, Boy Savior…”

She coughed. A wet sound, like drowning in words.

“I told you she was on Snake Island. And yes, she’s there now. Sleeping. I can hear her dreams, the murmurs in her throat… the hearts beating inside her…”

She leaned in, almost lovingly, her voice sweet as blood.

“…But that’s not where you’ll find her.”

Ekko’s heart jolted. “What does that mean?” he snapped. “Where is she, then? Tell me where Jinx is!”

He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her like the truth might fall loose—but it was too late.

The creature—whatever she was, whatever mask she’d worn—shuddered once.

Collapsed into his arms.

Not Jinx. Not Powder. Not quite anyone. And yet… too much like her.

Her final breath dragged through her lungs like seawater through a cracked hull.

Then silence. That was the first night since the cove when he could hear silence.

Ekko tried to wake her, to drag her back. But it was no use. 

The siren had died.

Free.

And she had died in his arms…

Chapter Text

“Violent and Matilda? Are you sure you can trust those brats, Vika?”

“I’m guessing ‘Vi’ is Violent, but why the hell would Kiramman be Matilda?”

"Nothing happens at the Vyx without me knowing. They came asking about you months ago, taking advantage of Babette and Vander's old friendship. I warned you, didn't I?"

“Seems you missed that little detail, sweetheart.”

“Oops! At least nobody died. You made it out in one piece, and now look at you—so close you even work together. Vander would be proud... I guess. You were his right-hand, weren’t you? Or you liked pretending to be. No wonder Vi tried to kill you the moment she left Stillwater.”

“Don’t start.”  

“That girl had every reason to get her revenge—and we deserved it. But after what she did with her little sweetheart? Now she’s earned herself a death sentence, too. That alliance of yours sounds like a ticking bomb—who’s going to kill whom first?”

“Trust isn’t a requirement,” Sevika snapped. “Vi wants Ekko. Kiramman wants her father. I want to stop the bloodbath between Zaun and Piltover. As long as we’re aligned, I don’t care what they want.”

“That’s what Silco thought. We know how he ended up.”

“I’m not Silco.”

“No, unlike him, you’re alone. And those two? They’re a duo inside a trio. A team inside the team.”

Sevika’s knuckles whitened against the counter. Margot only grinned wider.

“Anyway,” Margot purred, stretching like a cat, “I’ll be as annoying as I damn well please. You dragged me out of bed with this shiny new councilor title of yours. I don’t do mornings. Don’t talk to me about office hours…”

“I didn’t ask you to come,” Sevika growled, stirring her coffee so hard it nearly sloshed over the cup. “And you’re not here just to play prophet, are you?”

“While seeing you is always a pleasure—”

“Spare me.”

“—You’re not wrong. Chross isn’t dead—but he’s gone. Sailed off on some piltie yacht a few days ago. It took me a bit to confirm it. But hey, I found out before your lovebirds did.”

“He ran.” Sevika’s jaw clenched.

“Of course, he did. His boys had one last fun night in my streets. Happy men, chatty men. You ruined his shimmer pipeline, collapsed his tunnels, and dried up his blood money. He would’ve ended up a target on every block of Zaun. A piltie exploiting kids? They’d have hung him piece by piece. Unlike Vander or Silco, Chross was just a parasite. No loyalty. No fear. Just rot.”

She leaned closer, her voice dripping honey.

“Speaking of rot... what happened to Silco’s body? Hope I’m not overstepping.”

“No idea. The little lunatic offed him and stashed him somewhere, like everything else she broke.”

Margot’s eyes glittered with something unreadable. 

“The little lunatic... She was something, wasn’t she?”

Her voice softened.

“The first time I saw her, I was just another vixen looking for justice. Chross’ thugs left me half-dead, and no one cared. So, I went to the big boss’s office hoping someone would. And there she was—trying to hang herself with a licorice rope. Someone told her she was bleeding out. She’d rather die fast than wait for it.”

Sevika grunted. “She was supposed to be smart. How was I supposed to know she’d believe that crap?”

“She was smart. Just... not in the usual ways. I talked her down and ended up showing her how to apply eyeliner because she liked mine. Silco walked in while I was explaining winged tips.”

She had a small, twisted smile on her face, like the ones that come before a sob.. 

“If Jinx hadn’t liked me, Silco never would’ve listened to a word I said. He wouldn’t have sent you to kill that bastard for what he did to me. Wouldn’t have let me run the red-light zones. The world saw her as bad luck. But for me? That little lady of chaos was twisted fortune. I never thanked her for that…”

“I’m sure you repaid the favor with interest.” Sevika’s voice had gone quiet. “Your charm and kindness opened doors for you. That rarely happens down here. I’m glad she helped Silco see your worth.”

A beat. Then: “And he told me to warn that bastard. If I killed him, it’s because I found out what he did to you.”

Margot blinked. That softness? Real. And that was rare. But it didn’t last long…

“That’s why I’m helping you now. Or trying to. But help me help you, Vika.”

Her tone turned razor-sharp.

“Don’t forget—Kiramman poisoned the Undercity, and Vi helped her. They see us as vermin. You think Vi forgot her hatred just because her sister is gone? Please. If they’re crawling back, it’s because they need you. Use that. That’s what Silco did. He didn’t need trust. Just leverage.”

“You should be on the council.”

“No, thanks. Politics gives me hives. How you stand it, I’ll never know.”

“It’s not in my nature,” Sevika muttered.

“What, being a liar? All politicians are good at lying.”

“Being a hypocrite.”

Margot leaned back, eyebrows raised.

“Is that what you think you are?”

“I know I am.”

She stood, pacing. “I’m hunting down the same people I once fought beside. Crushing a revolution I helped to dream up—just to avoid a war we’d lose. How is that not hypocrisy?”

“It’s not judgment day, Sev. And I don’t like to judge others for what they do to survive.”

Margot’s voice was lower now, gentler. “Leaders make dirty choices. The ones worth a damn carry guilt like a second spine. You’re not a hypocrite. You’re just... tired.”

Sevika didn’t reply.

“And I mean soul-tired. Not ‘I haven’t slept’ tired. You talk about her like she was just a nuisance, like she meant nothing, but your voice cracks every time you do. If all of Zaun mourns her despite not having known her, you think I don’t see through you?”

“She was a nuisance!”

Sevika’s voice broke for real now. 

“She dragged us into mess after mess until she got Silco killed! I never liked brats—”

Her words caught. She turned away, blinking fast.

Margot moved without a word and wrapped her arms around her. 

Sevika stiffened… then slowly returned the embrace.

There was strategy in Margot’s actions. But there was care, too. 

Real, inconvenient, human care.

“You loved Jinx,” Margot whispered. “That’s why Vi might spare you. Unlike Matilda, you wouldn’t spit on her grave, even if you should. If you ever get close to her, it won’t be politics—it’ll be that. That warped, impossible love you both lost. Use it. Not to manipulate her. Just... to not die alone by their hands.”

Sevika sighed.

“Getting in Vi’s good graces isn’t my goal. And if she’s screwing the girl who helped kill her sister, I doubt she ever loved her in the first place.”

“Like I said—I don’t like to judge. Love’s messy. It changes people. For better or worse.” 

“Yeah, I know that.”

They drank their coffee in silence.

Eventually, Margot curled up on the couch, half-finished mug in hand, and drifted off. Sevika watched her breathe.

The steam in her own cup blurred the window, mixing with the permanent haze of the Undercity. The whole world felt like it was falling apart. Like the bitter sludge of her coffee. Like the ghosts of choices she couldn’t undo. Like that girl with the too-big eyes who thought she was invincible—until she wasn’t.

Maybe Sevika wasn’t a traitor. Maybe not a savior either.

Just someone still standing.

And—for now—maybe that was enough.

(...)

“I close my eyes for one damn second and this happens. Who the hell thinks it’s a good idea to rob pirates—on their own ship?”

“I didn’t rob anyone!”

“You killed their gold mine. Same difference.”

“I didn’t mean to! I didn’t do anything!”

“All you had to do was ignore her,” the warlock muttered, hands frantic, searching for something—anything. A pulse. A twitch. A miracle. But it was too late.

The siren was dead.

One hand clutched the talisman Ezreal had given Ekko. The other gripped his arm like a lifeline, dragging him down with her.

“When she kissed you, she gave you her soul. Thought she’d get it back when she devoured you. That’s why she wouldn’t die. Not even when they peeled her open like some fruit, because part of her was inside you. And when you agreed to set her free... she let go. That was it. All you had to do was ignore her. But you couldn’t even do that.”

“If you’d told me—”

“If I’d told you, you would’ve freed her days ago. Even with that sea demon howling in your mind, you’d still have felt sorry for her. That’s just who you are—compassionate. Stupidly so. But freeing her would’ve killed you. I was trying to spare you, Ekko. I thought if you didn’t know, you wouldn’t drown. But look at you. You always find a way to tie the rope yourself.”

“Help me!” Ekko begged, voice cracking like glass. All the fire gone. No rebel, no genius—just a scared boy with too much blood on his hands.

Ezreal sighed, praying to gods he didn’t believe in for one last drop of patience.

“How exactly do you expect me to help? Death’s the one thing no one can undo.”

“You’re a warlock! Make her disappear, or—or something!”

“If it were that easy, I’d have sent you to Bilgewater and myself to a bathhouse weeks ago. But… she’s dead. Doesn’t matter if I send her off whole or in pieces, right? Tomorrow she’s gone, and we play dumb. Get her hand off of you; I’ll handle the rest.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

Rafen’s voice cracked like a whip. He stepped forward, steady and cold-eyed. Before Ekko could stammer out a word, Ezreal stepped in front of him.

“He didn’t know what he was doing. I should’ve explained. I know you don’t give a damn about Jinx, but your captain does. Whatever punishment’s coming—give it to me. He is not even twenty. He doesn’t deserve to die for having a heart.”

“You’re not dying for me, Ezreal!” Ekko shouted, panic ripping through his chest.

He couldn’t take it—not another death, not his. Especially not his.

Rafen stared at him. Unblinking. Like he was weighing something.

“Ekko, right?”

A pause. Then:

“You’ve got a good friend. Overdramatic, yeah, but loyal. Keep that. You’ll need it. No one’s dying today. What’s done is done. Not ideal, but… The siren lived long enough to replace what Jinx drained from the Syren. Maybe that’ll be enough.”

“Wait—Jinx ate mermaid meat?”

“Don’t look like that. It was to keep her alive. And the baby. The girl was nothing but bones when we found her. Have you ever seen someone half-dead carry life? Only the gods know how she made it to us.”

And from the way he said it, he didn’t sound thankful.

“Now,” he added, voice flat, “since nothing goes to waste on this ship, you’re going to help me bleed her one last time. Once her blood dries, it stops being a cure and starts being a poison. That’s worth something, too.”

So, they did. 

Horrified. Shaking. Barely breathing. 

They helped drain the last red from her corpse, dumped her into the sea, and watched as the water foamed—hissing—around what was left.

“Don’t feel bad for her,” Rafen said flatly. “Sirens don’t have souls. Not like ours. She’ll be reborn, same as always—driven by one thing: to drag land-walkers down to the deep. In that, they’re no different from the woman you curse so much, Ekko. Just like pirates call sirens to hunt them, Gangplank’s breath keeps Miss Fortune alive. I sometimes wonder if the day she kills him will be the day she dies too. That’s all she’s ever lived for—revenge. And a lot of us… We live for her. Including your beloved, Jinx.”

Ekko’s throat closed.

Jinx.

His beloved. His curse.

She’d promised to stay. Swore she loved him as much as he loved her. And now? Now she was riding shotgun to a killer with fire in her eyes and a name like a coin toss. 

She let someone else rewrite her story—tore out every chapter Ekko thought he’d earned. 

That pirate had crawled into the space that had once been his, and she’d let her. 

What did that damn woman have that he didn’t?

What spell did she cast to make Jinx stay?

“Is Gangplank… another pirate?” Ezreal asked, curious as always. 

“The cruel king of Bilgewater,” Rafen muttered, bitter as seawater. “Sarah took his crown years ago. But he’s still out there, rotting, breathing. And as long as he is, she’ll never rest. Bilgewater’s split in two: those who follow Miss Fortune… and those praying for their dead king to rise.”

He glanced toward the horizon, jaw clenched.

“That’s why I risked it with the sirens. Needed to get back fast. Keep the wolves from sniffing at her throne while she’s gone. She’s been away too long already…”

Ekko nodded slowly.

How long had he been away? Two weeks? Almost three?

It felt like he’d stepped into a black hole.

Zaun wasn’t like Bilgewater. Not since Silco’s fall. Since Smeech was killed by Sevika. Since Chross ghosted. Since Madame Margot stuck to her backroom deals. The fires died down. But the smoke? The smoke never left.

And Ekko—Ekko the time boy, the street kid who flew on gears and hope—now bled inside because Jinx stayed. Because she chose to stay in someone else’s hell, instead of running home to him.

She chose Miss Fortune.

“Alright, sewer rats! Back to bed!” Rafen barked. “And remember—nothing happens on this ship without me knowing. Nothing! I want you up at dawn!”

Ekko stumbled back to the bunks, trying to crush the thoughts coiling in his skull like snakes. He held onto the one bright thread that hadn’t snapped yet:

“Thanks, Ezreal.”

“Huh?” Ezreal raised an eyebrow, smirk already half-loaded.

“For earlier. You didn’t have to stand up for me. I could’ve taken the heat.”

“Could you?” Ezreal asked softly, tilting his head. “Maybe. But I didn’t want you to. I care, Ekko. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

Ekko blinked.

“I figured you came for the ship. The chaos. The adventure.”

Ezreal chuckled and gave him a playful shove. “I mean, yeah. That’s part of it. But mostly? I came to watch your back. You’ve got a rare thing—a heart that still bleeds for people. Zaun could use more like you.”

He hesitated, his voice dipping low. “I know how grief eats at you. And I know what it’s like to chase ghosts. The thing is… You still have a chance to get yours back. So no, I wasn’t going to let you down.”

He looked away for a moment, like the weight of his own words might snap him in half.

“Besides,” he added, quieter, “dying doesn’t scare me much anymore. If I go and find my parents, great. If I don’t… then I know they’re still alive, and there’s a chance my uncle gets part of his family back even when I’m gone. Either way, I win.”

Ekko stared. “You’re wiser than you let on.”

Ezreal scrunched his nose. “I’ll take that as a compliment. I think.”

Ekko took a breath, the kind that feels like swallowing glass.

“And because of that… and because right now, until I find her, you’re the only person I trust enough…”

“You still trust Jinx? You deserve each other, I swear…”

Ekko clenched his jaw. “Don’t make me regret telling you anything.”

So, walking between rusted walls and floorboards that creaked like dying things, Ekko told him everything.

How the Arcane had started rotting his tree, how he’d ended up asking Heimerdinger for help, how that led to Jayce Talis and the cursed Hexcore—where it all blew apart.

How he slipped through time and space and landed in a world where Zaun and Piltover weren’t at war anymore—because Vi and Caitlyn had died in a bombing that shook both cities into peace.

How he met Powder there. 

A Jinx who had never shattered. Who still had her family. Who never became a weapon. How she, with Heimerdinger, helped him build the machine that tore time apart and let him crawl back into his own world. How the Z-Drive was born out of that sweet nightmare, out of hope and grief.

“Have you ever tried pushing past four seconds?” Ezreal asked, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“It always breaks,” Ekko muttered, bitterness thick in his voice. “Reality starts to glitch. Melt. Twist. The last time I forced it… I saw something. At the edge. Since then, it’s been busted. I haven’t had the time or the strength to fix it.”

“So, you brought it with you? Hoping Jinx could patch it up?”

“I brought it so no one else could get their hands on it.” Ekko leaned back, jaw clenched. “I trust the Firelights, but… One of them tossed my jacket when they were digging through my stuff. It’s not completely safe. If anyone had touched the Z-Drive…” He shook his head. “It would’ve gone nuclear. And yeah. Powder and Jinx are different, but both are brilliant. If anyone can crack it, it’s her.”

Ezreal laughed. “He who knows nothing fears nothing, Ekko. You can’t blame your crew for being curious.” He pointed at himself. “My first theory was right! ‘Never stop thinking about the impossible,’ my uncle used to say. Everything real now was once someone’s madness. If you need a little magic tech support, I’m your guy. No genius guarantees, but I’ll try. Was it that hard to come clean about all of that, Owl?”

“I thought you'd lecture me,” Ekko muttered. “You said time machines shouldn’t exist.”

“And I stand by that,” Ezreal said with a shrug. “But it does exist. Things exist, and then they get questioned. Not the other way around. I’m sure there’ll be fallout… But what’s the point in playing prophet? If it happens, it happens.”

“You really don’t care about anything, do you?”

Ezreal laughed again, not unkindly. “Nah, it’s not that. I used to care too much. Used to panic about everything. But being a nomad… it teaches you. Teaches you to let go. To roll with it.”

“Doesn’t sound like a fun lesson.”

“It’s not,” Ezreal admitted, smile dimming but still there. “And it’s not for everyone. You’re not like me. You’re a tree, Ekko. You have roots. That’s your power. Stuff can only grow if it’s grounded. You need something to fight for. A place. A person. That’s your charm. We’re less than four days from Bilgewater now. You’re closer to home than you think…”

Closer to home, Ekko thought. But that’s still four days away from Jinx.

And once they were with her… four days away from Zaun. If the skies played nice.

It felt like trading solid ground for smoke. Like chasing ghosts across the ocean.

He just hoped both of his homes—his beloved and his region—could survive while he was gone. And that whatever roots Jinx had sunk into Bilgewater… weren’t strong enough to make her choose anyone—Sarah, anyone—over him.

(...)

Ahri had never felt hunger like this. Not in all her long, cursed life.

She was back in Ionia, but not in the lush green fields tucked between mountains—the ones she used to tell Jinx about when the girl asked what her homeland was like. No.

She was in the Shadow Isles now, trapped in a winter that never ended, where the snow reeked of death and her instincts—those primal things buried beneath her skin—wouldn’t stop howling.

Her ears—huge, twitching things—quivered at sounds that didn’t exist. Her nose tore through the frozen air like a rusted blade, clawing out the scent of blood from miles away. Her instincts, those ancient, buried things coiled beneath her skin, screamed.

Every nearby emotion throbbed through her body like a parasite. Calm. Suspicion. Terror. She couldn't tell which were hers anymore.

She hunted a rabbit first. Small, barely a flicker against the snow. It didn’t help. She moved on to larger beasts—things stronger than her, faster, meaner—but never hungrier. And still, the ache inside her only grew.

The thing in her—whatever it was—roared. The hunger wasn’t a need. It was a void. It wanted everything.

It wasn’t until the wind brought her the scent of human blood that her mouth flooded with saliva.

Was that it? Was that the cure for the centuries-old rot inside her? Human flesh?

The real Ahri—the sane one—would’ve torn her own legs off before giving in to that. But she wasn’t in control anymore. She was gliding. Slipping through trees, over snow, wrapped in the choking dark under a dying moon. She didn’t think. She moved. And when the silhouette appeared in the clearing ahead, she didn’t hesitate.

Her fangs sank into the girl’s throat before either of them could speak.

The girl gasped, barely a whisper, confused and soft:

“Ahri…?”

But it was too late.

The snow turned the color of bruises. The blood was sweet—tainted, shimmering. Laced with something wrong. It rushed into Ahri’s mouth like a drug, and for the first time in years, she felt something close to peace. No pain. No longing. Just euphoria.

Then she saw them: pink eyes fading like drowned fireflies.

Of course, it was Jinx. It had always been Jinx.

And her body stopped fighting…

...

It took her several seconds to grasp where she truly was—and longer still to remember who she was supposed to be.

Ahri woke in a jolt, heart ricocheting inside her ribcage, mouth wet and acrid with the taste of something primal. Her fangs were bared. Her chest heaved. Tears leaked down her face before she even knew she was crying.

The dream clung to her like blood on her hands.

She had hurt Jinx. No, not hurt—torn her apart. She could still feel it: the weight of it, the hunger, the horrifying clarity. Shame surged up like bile.

How could she even dream of something like that?

Only one answer came to mind—ugly, instinctual. Jinx and Illaoi’s brutal match must’ve cracked something open inside her, something she’d tried to cage for centuries. Jinx had bled, actual blood, warm and human and real. And though in the moment Ahri had been too shocked—too worried about the girl—to process it, maybe some part of her had noticed. Had liked it.

The thought made her stomach twist. No explanation could excuse it. No animal reflex could cleanse the guilt.

She wasn’t human. But she was a person. She had made herself one.

A thinking, feeling, reasoning creature. Not a beast. Not a monster.

Always, that sensitivity of hers—her curse—had made her feel too much. Picked up others' emotions like shards through skin. It hadn’t given her strength. Just pain.

What kind of predator feels sorry for its prey?

She did. Always had.

And that irony—being built to devour and yet craving tenderness—had haunted her. But she'd fought. Clawed her way out of the dark. She had chosen not to be the thing the world thought she was. Not a monster. Not anymore.

She wouldn't let a nightmare, a stray thought, or a flicker of bloodlust take that from her.

Not now. Never.

But even as she repeated that vow in her mind like a prayer, her body betrayed her. Her instincts whispered before reason could speak.

Someone was watching her.

The awareness hit her spine like a breath of ice. She looked up slowly, blinking past her knees into the haze of the half-lit room.

And there she was.

Jinx.

Standing at the edge of the bed. Silent. Strange.

The flicker of a candle threw stuttering shadows on her face. Pale moonlight dripped in through the broken floorboards above. The rest of the room—the room Ahri had claimed as her own—was cloaked in gloom. But her fox eyes saw everything.

Jinx's eyes burned through the dark, pink, bright, almost fluorescent. Neon grief.

Her mascara had run, black streaks staining her cheeks like bruises. Her dress was a mess of frayed fabric and stolen pieces from Sarah’s old clothes, barely concealing the curve of her growing belly. She looked lost. Cracked. And she had been crying…

"Did you have a nightmare, Ahri?"

"Something like that... but it doesn't matter. What are you doing here, Jinx? Why aren’t you asleep?"

"I couldn’t sleep," she shrugged, like it was the weather. "I want to talk to you about something important."

Her voice didn’t match her posture. It came too slow, too soft—like it had bled out of someone else.

Ahri blinked. Still half-trapped between the nightmare and the world, she nodded.

"Normally... I can sleep angry," Jinx went on. "But not today. I’m still mad at you."

"I can feel it." Ahri tried to keep her voice steady. "I was surprised you didn’t poison me... You even saved me, thinking you’d gotten the wrong cup. You’ve been cursing me for hours."

"It’s just that I have..." Jinx’s hands curled into fists, knuckles white, fingernails digging. "I have a serious problem trusting people. Like that crazy priestess said. The person who was like... like my third dad, my tormentor, and my everything when I was alone... lied to me. He lied to my face for years. Made me believe my sister was dead, that she’d died in the streets of Zaun hating me, and that I couldn’t save her, that I’d never find her."

She inhaled sharply, swallowing the weight.

"And I believed him. Like a fool. Like a desperate, stupid little kid. Only to find out—years later—that Vi had been alive the whole time. That she’d been imprisoned. That not even Silco knew, because his order had been to kill her. That he thought it would be kinder if I never knew the truth."

She laughed, but it was hollow, jagged.

"My whole world fell apart when I found out.”

"Jinx…" Ahri whispered.

But Jinx didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

“Vi promised me she’d always find me. That she’d always be with me. But the second someone treated her slightly nicely... she was gone. She clung to the first hand that reached out. And it was an enforcer. A shiny Piltovian doll with everything we hated. She didn’t care. Not about Zaun. Not about me. Caitlyn Kiramman was worth more to her than her own blood.”

Her chest heaved. She was a dam with cracks too wide to patch.

“I… Vi was going to blow my brains out for her. And they weren’t even anything yet.”

“Jinx…”

"And then Ekko. He swore I was his ride-or-die. His lifelong partner. And of course, I believed him. We were just kids. Of course, I did. But I made one mistake—trusting the hand that fed me. And suddenly, I was the traitor. Suddenly, I was the monster. He didn’t hesitate to throw me away for Vi and a Piltie he didn’t even know. He beat me within an inch of my life to protect them."

Her voice trembled. Her whole body did.

“Vi was a stranger to me by then. Imagine what she was to him. And still, he chose her.”

She rubbed her face, her tone spiraling into exhaustion. “And still. Still. We got back together. He saved me from myself. He said he loved me. But then I’d hear him, at night... murmuring someone else’s name in his sleep.”

Jinx hugged herself tighter, nails biting into her arms.

"And Sarah..." she rasped, nearly choking. "Sarah told me I’d be safe here. That her name would protect me. But Gangplank is still alive. Still alive. And her name might get me killed.”

A bitter laugh scraped up her throat. She scrubbed at her face again, furious at the tears.

"I barely trust myself. How the hell can I trust anyone else? And when I do—when I let myself believe someone won’t betray me—they always do. They lie. They leave."

"Jinx..."

"In nineteen years, the only person who ever looked me in the eye and saw me, not my violence, not my chaos, but me, was Ezreal. A stranger I don’t even like, who probably doesn’t like me, but didn’t lie to me. A Piltovian. And even then... I don’t trust him. Not fully. His kind always lies. Sooner or later. It's just a matter of when."

Ahri closed her eyes. She could feel every tremor in the air between them.

Jinx didn’t meet her gaze.

“I know it’s probably messed up. I know I’m probably broken. But one omission, one silence, one stupid half-truth... and it all collapses. I start doubting everything. And you..." Her voice cracked. “You didn’t tell me about Illaoi. Or about you and Sarah. You didn’t think I could handle it. And maybe I couldn’t. But it still made me feel like an idiot. And I hate feeling like an idiot.”

Her breath caught in her throat. But she forced herself forward, into the next words like they were knives she had to push through.

“And I know you care about me, Ahri. I know. No one stays on a cursed island for someone they don’t care about. No one. But your lies... they shook even that.”

She let her head drop. Her hair fell in front of her face like a veil.

"So yeah. I cursed you. All damn day. But when I thought I might hurt you, really hurt you… I got scared. Because I don’t hate you. You hurt me. But I want to believe you. I want to trust you. I do. But it feels so... stupid.”

The last words slipped out, hoarse, ragged.

“Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting something different... that’s crazy.” She curled in on herself. “And I don’t want to be crazy anymore.”

Ahri reached for her. She was still shaking, her own heart drumming like a warning. The nightmare still hovered behind her eyelids. The scent of Jinx's skin, her blood, the haze of her fear—it all pressed against Ahri’s instincts like a vice.

But she ignored it.

Ignored it all.

Because some part of her, something older than fear and deeper than memory, needed to offer comfort more than it needed to feed.

She wrapped her arms around Jinx and held her.

“I’m sorry, Jinx.”

Ahri’s voice was low, hoarse, like she was still half-stuck in whatever nightmare had jolted her awake.

“Hurting you was never my intention. I wanted to ease your burden... but I was wrong. I should’ve respected your mind, your right to know the truths that concern you. I promise I’ll try to be more honest from now on.”

Jinx gave a small shrug.

“And I’ll try to listen more when you give advice. And be honest, too. I already am, kind of. And I’ll keep at it.”

She paused, eyes falling to the floor like something heavy had just dropped inside her.

“Also… I mean, thanks. But you don’t have to live like everything you do might break me. It just makes it obvious how messed up I am. I don’t need the reminders. That’s no way to live.”

“Out of all the crazy stuff that lunatic said, the only thing I cared about was the rumor that Chross’ rats were selling ‘weird tech’ besides Shimmer. Maybe one of those junk pieces could help with my impossible project… maybe I could build myself a new hand.” 

“I already told you—no. It’s too dangerous. They’d recognize you.”

“Exactly. Which means they’d know better than to cross me.”

“That might’ve been true before the pregnancy. But now? There’s more at stake than just your life. You need to think like a mother. Not a killer—”

“I am thinking like a mother!” Jinx snapped.

“They’re a threat to the kids. And like any decent mother, I want them dead.”

Her breath caught. She looked away.

“And if the hand’s not enough to convince anyone… I’m curious, too. I want to know whose Piltie head they’re auctioning off. Must be someone awful, dumb, and unlucky to end up down here. Like me. Except Pilties usually get rescued. It almost feels like karma…”

Ahri let out a breath that was almost a laugh but was too tired to fully commit.

“You’re so morbid. Illaoi said it was just gossip. A trap. Bait for angry Zaunites still bleeding from Piltover’s knives.”

“Chross’ men aren’t that smart. As far as they know, I’m dead, Ahri. No one’s looking for me.”

Ahri frowned.

“I still think it’s a bad idea. I can’t stop you... But I’m asking. Please. For whatever means the most to you. You promised to value my advice.”

Jinx grimaced, folding her arms like a kid caught sneaking out.

“Yeah… I guess I did.”

“Who spoiled you so much that you don’t know how to handle being told no? You sound like a pampered brat.”

Ahri’s tone was teasing but soft. She sighed.

“And since you’re keeping your promise… I’ll keep mine. I’ve been hiding another secret. Not as bad as the last one, but still. You deserve to know.”

“Alright.”

Jinx was nervous. It was obvious. But she didn’t run—yet.

Ahri stood, walked to the closet, and pulled out an old phone.

The same one she’d been dialing for days with no answer. Jinx eyed it suspiciously.

“It’s a phone.”

“I’m not dumb. I’m just shocked you know what that is. You’re practically a fossil.”

Ahri rolled her eyes.

“It’s old, but it works. Long-range. Sarah gave me a number before she left for Demacia. Asked me to call with updates. I’ve been trying, but… she never picks up. Maybe she’s still at sea. Or maybe I have terrible timing.”

“Did you try today?”

“No. Today… I forgot.”

“Think it’s too late over there?”

“Not sure. But if you want, we can try. She’d want to hear your voice. She cares for you. In case you need reminding.”

“I want to try the phone.”

But before Ahri could hand it over, Jinx bolted from the room.

Seconds later, she came back, breathless, holding a scorched scrap of paper.

Ahri blinked.

“You really shouldn’t run with wrecked knees. What is that—a secret?”

“They’re healed,” Jinx grinned, waving the paper. “The Shimmer... and whatever mermaid gunk’s still inside me, I guess. Anyway, it’s a mistake. But also, a secret. Ezreal gave me a number. Said Ekko passed it on before leaving Piltover. He gave it to me in case I ever changed my mind about staying dead.”

Her grin vanished.

“I threw it in the fire at first. Then I panicked. Pulled it out with the hook. I don’t even know why…”

“Why did you burn it, or why did you save it?”

“Both. I stuffed it in with all my other useless junk. Thought it wouldn’t matter. But now—now that there’s a phone—I miss Ekko, Ahri. I miss him so much. I didn’t want to trap him with someone like me, but I can’t stand being without him.”

She rubbed her eyes hard, like trying to erase the ache behind them.

“Vi’s probably going to hate me if I go back. But maybe she’ll tolerate me for her niece’s sake. Ekko… maybe he’ll hate me forever. But not his daughter. He loves kids. He used to take care of them so gently at the tree. Some called him ‘uncle.’ Some even said ‘dad.’ How could he hate his kid? Even if she comes from someone like me…”

She swallowed.

“Or maybe none of them want me back. But at least they won’t go on thinking I’m dead. I saw them cry, Ahri. They may not have loved me enough to trust me or choose me, but they loved me, nonetheless. I saw them break worse than I ever did. I should’ve never done that to them. Illaoi was right—dying would’ve been the easy way out. I should’ve stayed, like I always dreamed of them staying with me. For me.”

Jinx hugged herself. Tight. Like she was trying to hold her soul in.

“But I can’t face them all at once. What if they arrest me? I’m still a criminal in Piltover. What if they lock me in Stillwater and they forget me there? I will lose my baby as well. I can’t lose her…”

Ahri crossed the room and pulled her into a quiet, steady hug.

“So, it’s better to start from a distance. That’s okay, I get that. We’ll call.”

“Do you think it’s a good time in Zaun?”

Ahri gave a slow smile. Warm. Small. Real.

“I think... There's no wrong time to come back from the dead. Worst case, they’re asleep and don’t pick up tonight. Then, we’ll try again in the morning. And if you want, I’ll be next to you both times. Just in case. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Jinx’s voice cracked as she nodded.

“…Yeah. Please.”

Chapter Text

Jayce,

Vi and I have moved into your mother’s house for a while—at least until the enforcers decide there’s nothing left to analyze at mine. The crime scene, as they call it.

Naturally, Ximena offered to take us in. She’s kind, even as the world caves in.

I’m writing this from your desk, using your favorite pen. I hope it doesn’t bother you as much as it used to, back when I was little and couldn’t stop poking around your things.

I’ve always loved your home, no matter how much you complained about how cramped it was. It smells like cinnamon, scorched metal, old paper, wood, and potpourri. It smells like you. Like somewhere safe. Like a place that’s been lived in and loved.

It feels like a home, even though mine never smelled—or felt—anything like this.

Sometimes, Ximena talks about you like you’ve just stepped out for a while. Like you could walk back through that door at any moment. I haven’t had the heart to correct her. I wish it were true.

Zaun and Piltover are falling apart for the same reasons, but the way they crumble couldn’t be more different. Zaun is quiet now—in that eerie, fragile way that follows a riot or precedes a storm. Sevika’s words. Piltover, as always, keeps pretending to stand tall, but the cracks are splitting wider every day. And everyone is afraid.

The peace we fought for—the one that cost us you—lasted barely a breath. Deep down, we all knew it wouldn’t hold. Still, we let ourselves believe. And now, it feels like an insult to your memory. Like waking up too soon from a dream we didn’t want to end.

Mel is gone. I wish she hadn’t left when we needed her most, but she did what she had to do. Piltover was never meant for someone like her. Her path always led back to Noxus, even if her heart lingered here longer than it should have. We could use her strength right now. But I believe she’s exactly where she’s meant to be. She was a force of nature long before she ever touched a spark of magic. I’m not worried about her.

You would’ve agreed. You loved her. And you knew that love meant letting go, too.

You weren’t lovers anymore, but what you had was something steadier. Truer. You were friends. That much, I know. She asked me to burn a paper with your name on it in her place, since she couldn’t stay for the funeral.

And that’s where the illusion breaks, doesn’t it?

You’re not here to agree with me anymore.

You’re gone.

I’m sorry we let everything fall apart before the end. We were so busy trying to hold up the city that we forgot to hold each other.

I wish we’d talked more. I wish we’d remembered what it was like in the beginning, when I’d follow you around your lab like a shadow, asking questions I didn’t understand, just to feel useful. Just to be allowed near you.

I wanted to be like you, Jayce. I wanted to believe in something the way you believed in your ideas. I wanted to turn my dreams into blueprints the way you turned yours into a legacy.

You were the big brother I never had, and I was… just your annoying little shadow. Your soul sibling, remember? I was the first person who believed in you when no one else did. I even convinced my parents to support your work when you were still a student—long before Arcane mysteries or Council politics twisted everything.

For a long time, I resented Viktor. I hated that he pulled you away from me. That he understood your work in a way I never could. 

But now, I pray, with your mother, that wherever you both are, you’re together. No councils. No pressure. Just you and Viktor. Free.

I found my soulmate across the river, too. 

Loving her made me realize maybe we weren’t so different, after all. 

Losing you made me consider that death isn’t a wall. Maybe it’s just a quieter place. 

And maybe, when the time comes, none of us will be alone.

I miss everything about you.

Your strength.

Your voice of reason whenever I faltered.

Your wild, impossible hope for a better future.

But most of all, I miss how you loved me.

I loved you, too. I just wish I’d said it more often.

I’m tired, Jayce. So tired.

My father is gone. And before that, I fought with him like he was a stranger. I hated him for treating Vi like poison and me like a disappointment—all for trying to fix the damage I caused in a way that only deepened it. And now, I’d give anything to see him again. Even if just to argue one last time.

I wasn’t there when they took him. Just like I wasn’t there when they killed Mom. 

I lost them both without ever mending what I broke, without proving my worth. 

I just hope it’s not too late to fix what remains.

Vi says she’s fine, of course. But her hands tremble, and she stares at her glass too long before taking a sip. Ekko’s disappearance shattered her. Jinx’s ghost haunts every room we live in. 

Before all of this, Vi was already in pain, and I contributed to that suffering.

I made her an enforcer. I asked her to help me hunt down her own sister to avenge my mother. I put a bloody badge over her grief. And she did all that for me. Then I left her when she tried to open my eyes. And after that… I betrayed her with Maddie.

I thought I needed something safe, predictable. A distraction. But all I found was guilt—and that mistake nearly killed me. And when I finally held Vi in my arms again, even that joy was tainted. She said she didn’t care. Maybe she meant it. But sometimes she flinches, like she’s afraid I’ll strike her again—like I did before I left. Sometimes her eyes burn with rage when someone mentions Maddie, because I was reckless enough to fall for someone who knew everyone I worked with. And I’m ashamed. Disgusted that I put us in this position. I don’t deserve her. Violet deserves better than me. I thought my great love would be like my parents’: devoted, whole, and unshakable. But I failed at that, too. I failed Vi. I failed my parents. I failed you.

And now, I’m failing your mother too…

If she knew I didn’t burn the blueprints—if she knew I let them vanish, that I let myself be swept away by love, grief, and everything but what I had to do—she might not even offer me a roof right now.

But I swear, I’ll find them. I’ll fix this. I don’t know how, but I will. It’s all I have left: to try to be better. For all the love I don’t deserve but still so desperately want to keep…

Please, if you’re anywhere, pray for me.

So, I don’t fall apart again.

So, I don’t hurt anyone else while trying to do the right thing.

I pray for you every night.

For your peace.

For a reunion.

For Viktor.

For Ximena, who still calls you my boy, as if you never stopped being one.

And I’ll keep going.

For Vi, who still loves me, despite everything.

For Dad, who I hope still lives, still loves me, even if I let him down.

And for you, because I know you wouldn’t want me to give up.

I love you.

I’ll never stop loving you.

—Sprout

(...)

Month of Harvest, Week 2 – Serpent Isles

Notes on a Bluebird

I’m no expert on the mind. I’ve had to clarify that more times than I care to count—probably because my powers grant me a deeper-than-average understanding of human emotion.

Emotions interest me. I taste them. Absorb them. Devour them. But I don’t fix people. I’ve never studied, and I don’t plan to start now. That said, Jinx’s mind fascinates me more than most—more than some of the most brilliant I’ve encountered. And I’ve met minds that reshaped the course of Runeterra.

Her emotions are like shattered glass: sharp, radiant, and dangerous to touch. There are flashes of brilliance in her, but no stability. What makes her shine one day might tear her apart the next. 

I don’t think she realizes how close to the edge she walks—how often. 

I didn’t start these notes out of morbid curiosity. They come from caution, and yes, concern. She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. And while I can usually sense a lie, Jinx lies constantly. Even to herself. So, maybe putting her behavior to paper will help me see the patterns—and, with any luck, help us avoid catastrophe while we share a roof. I don’t plan to fix her, but I’d rather not make things worse by being careless. 

Or end up bleeding on the floor after a bad day…

Identity Dissociation

She calls herself Jinx, but sometimes, in sleep, she murmurs the name Powder. It’s always Powder when she dreams of softer things—her old home, her sister, Ekko. But she flinches when anyone else says it.

She treats Powder like a twin she killed and buried with her own hands—and yet mourns her constantly. There’s a fracture in her identity that hasn’t, and may never, heal. Jinx isn’t a mask. She’s armor. And the tragedy is she doesn’t know how to exist without it… but she doesn’t quite fit inside it either. It was forged in violence, abandonment—fire.

Jinx is who she had to become to survive. Powder is who she thinks she was supposed to be. Maybe she still wants to find her way back there. Maybe she doesn’t trust herself enough to try.

Zero Emotional Regulation

Some days, she talks for hours—manic, electric, words ricocheting like bullets, no filter, no breaks. Other days, silence. She just builds. Experiments. Stares into the middle distance for hours.

Her emotions don’t ebb and flow—they crash. Storms, not tides. She laughs until she cries or cries until she punches something. Sometimes all of that happens for the same reason. And then—nothing.

As if the fire inside her suddenly burns out, leaving only smoke.

On those days, she speaks in whispers—if at all. Her voice goes hollow. She moves carefully, like she’s afraid of startling herself.

That isn’t a mood swing. It’s an aftershock. A tremor from some catastrophe she survived long ago still echoing through her bones.

Attachment: Conditional Trust vs. Absolute Devotion

She loves with everything she has—but always on her own terms. It’s not perfection she demands from others. Far from it. Silco and Sarah are proof enough that her heart doesn’t discriminate between saints and monsters.

No, what she demands is survival. And, above all, that no one leaves her.

She’ll push you away to protect you from herself, then fall apart if you go. She’s afraid of abandonment—and equally afraid of being the one who breaks things. So, she self-sabotages. Leaves before you can leave her. I don’t think she even realizes she’s doing it. But I’ve seen the pattern before. Just never this literally.

When it comes to Ekko… it’s hard to watch.

She’s still in love with him. That much is obvious. When she says his name, it’s like her whole body responds—longing, guilt, terror, hunger, and devotion. As if loving him is a punishment she’s doomed to endure.

She thinks he loved a version of her that no longer exists. That belief eats her alive.

Trauma and Self-Perception

She calls herself a wreck. Bad luck. A cursed bird. Something broken.

Once, I asked—stupidly—what she wanted for the future. She stared at me for a long time, then said, “I just don’t want to ruin the kid.”

Not I want to be a good mother.

Not I want a peaceful life.

Just: Don’t let me destroy the one who never asked to be mine.

That’s the limit of what she believes she’s capable of.

And that’s tragic. Because what draws me to her is exactly how much she does with so little. The sharpness of her mind. She’s not just smart—she’s adaptive. She learns fast. What she can’t master, she invents.

She can’t see it. She believes she’s a curse.

And still… she takes her vitamins. Follows her doctor’s instructions to the letter. She works herself half to death to earn a roof that was offered freely. She patches her own clothes and tends to her wounds in silence, as if asking for help would be asking too much. She rebuilt Ezreal’s arm—and improved it. Just because she could.

She fixes everything around Sarah’s house, whether asked or not.

Even while believing she’s a ruin, she tries not to be. She wants to be useful. Needed. Because if you’re useful and needed, maybe you won’t be left behind. That’s how she seems to see the world.

She wants to survive. She just doesn’t believe she deserves to do it with anyone.

Self-Harm: Metaphorical or Literal

I haven’t seen her hurt herself. But her self-sacrifice skirts the edge of pathology.

She faked her death to protect others—even though it nearly killed her. She walked away from Ekko, though she still wakes whispering his name, haunted by the absence.

She works herself to the bone during pregnancy, convinced it’s the only way to earn the right to protect the child.

She believes love must cost her everything, or it isn’t real. That’s not just dangerous—it could be lethal.

Conclusions?

I don’t know what her clinical diagnosis would be. 

She wouldn’t care about labels. I might not either. 

But this much is clear: Jinx isn’t crazy. She is what trauma made of her. Just like the rest of us.

She didn’t collapse. She adapted. She survived.

And yes, she’s dangerous. Part of me fears her. But then—so are most who’ve survived the kind of hell that taught them not to flinch at the sound of death.

The difference? She’s still self-aware, and so there’s a chance of doing better.

She loves too hard. Trusts too little. Hurts far too easily.

And despite all of it… she tries.

That’s more than most can say. And I think I can live with someone like that.

… Or at least, I hope I can.

—Ahri

Serpent Isles, Month of Change, Week 3

(...)

To Captain Sarah Fortune,

May the winds continue to favor your sails and may the waters of Demacia prove no more treacherous than those we call home. 

I write to you from The Maelstrom, already making our way back. Barring another tantrum from the skies, we’re only a few days from port.

Allow me to bring you up to speed on what’s unfolded in your absence. As you can probably guess from the date on this letter, we didn’t take the most direct route back to Bilgewater after retrieving the boy. There were reasons—none as solid as I’d like. But I won’t dress it up: there was disobedience, and there were lies.

Your protégé misled Ezreal, telling him she was headed to Ionia with Ahri. Based on that, I made the call to change course. I believed—wrongly—that you'd want us to prioritize the boy’s safety… and to find Jinx. I was mistaken to put their fates ahead of your orders. It won’t happen again.

Ezreal remains aboard, under watch. So long as he stays clear of the helm—and matters that don’t concern him—he’s harmless. Talks too much, as expected, but he hasn’t caused any real trouble. You have my word: he won’t set foot on the island.

During the detour, we encountered the sirens. We took losses—eight men didn’t make it home, and another eight are recovering from serious wounds. But we didn’t come back empty-handed. We replenished what we spent recovering Jinx: fresh meat, blood, and a vial of poison scavenged from one of the corpses. It’s not enough to balance the scales—I know that. But it’s something. I’ll cover all funeral costs and ensure aid reaches the families. The blame lies with me, not you.

If you’ll permit a personal note—and I know your spirit’s likely stretched thin—I’ll say this: Ekko is more than I expected. He’s carried far more than his share and still walks with his head high. He follows orders without pride or fear and only raises his voice when it counts. Unlike a certain blue-haired firecracker, he hasn’t blown up so much as a lamp. Quite the opposite—he’s repaired rigging older than some of our crew.

And when the sirens struck, he broke their spell—alone. No help. No magic. Just instinct. He hurled himself into the fight like he’d been sailing with us for years. Damn brilliant, that kid.

Shame he’s in love with a madwoman, but that’s how young love is: all heart, no caution, and eyes shut tight. A lucky woman, that’s what she is.

I can get that feeling. And you’d know it better than most.

Now that he knows about the child, his resolve has only sharpened. He wants to stay. He wants to fight. The boy’s got grit, Captain. And while his story may lead him back to Zaun, I’ll speak plainly: men like him are rare at sea. You’d be wise to keep him close. You weren’t wrong—he’s the best chance that child has at a different kind of life.

I only hope Jinx is still standing when we return. 

If she’s not… I doubt he will be either. 

Please be cautious on foreign soil. Trust no one more than you must. Return quickly. Bilgewater needs you more than you know. The island is sick, yes—but it’s our sickness. And you’re the only cure it’s got left.

Your obedient servant,

Rafen Sharpe.

(...)

I dreamed it was a boy.

I’ve been dreaming about her for months. I thought she was a girl. I knew she was a girl. A little bit of her, a little bit of him, and the tiniest bit of me.

Someone sweet—like I used to be—but with fire in her gut. Fearless, like my little Isha was. With Ekko’s golden heart. Wild hair and a laugh like thunder.

But last night…

He had Ekko’s eyes. Big. Brown. No—golden, just like Isha’s. He looked at me ...like he already knew everything I’d done… and still loved me.

He didn’t scream. He smiled.

I was his safe place.

As if I could be that to someone.

And what the hell are you supposed to do after a dream like that? What do you do when what’s inside you isn’t what you expected, but somehow feels righter?

I woke up crying. Not because I didn’t want him. But because I did. So much that something in me cracked. Something I didn’t even know was still whole, but I prefer it now. A boy. Sweet Janna…

What the hell do I know about loving a child? I barely survived being one.

But he was happy with me…

Lately, I’ve been thinking too much.

Ahri says the baby isn’t a coincidence. Maybe Janna’s out there somewhere, laughing in the wind, giving me a second chance. A new soul. A new beginning.

And if that’s true—if the gods, the universe, or the dead give even half a damn—then I swear I won’t waste it.

I won’t burn it all down this time.

I won’t scream at him until he leaves.

I won’t love him so much it rots or so little it ruins.

I won’t give him bullets for bedtime stories.

I won’t hand him the gunpowder in me—just the spark.

He’ll never know what I did to deserve him.

But maybe, if I get this right… he’ll believe I deserve someone.

Even if it’s just him.

I want to do better. Not just for him. For me.

Because I’m tired of just surviving. I want to live.

I want to wake up in a bed that’s mine.

I want to build something with my hands that isn’t a weapon.

I want to sing. (Don’t laugh, diary. When no one’s listening, I hum like the gods themselves—Vi’s not the only one with a decent voice in this family.)

I want to make pancakes—burnt around the edges and way too sweet—just like Sevika taught me to make for Isha.

I want to deserve this. I don’t yet. But I’m trying.

In that dream, he was a boy, and he loved me.

Maybe someday… I’ll learn to love me too.

— J

Chapter Text

Although the lead on Ezreal’s whereabouts had brought them there, neither Caitlyn nor Violet ever made it to Piltover’s harbor.

Something happened.

Something that demanded Caitlyn’s silence—and her full attention as sheriff.

Not Vi’s.

“I’ll be right back. Go home. We can pick this up later—please.”

Caitlyn never framed it as an order, but it landed like one. Vi’s first instinct was to ignore it.

So instead of heading to Mrs. Talis’s house, she slipped down to the Firelights’ hideout.

Maybe she could calm Scar’s worst fears by telling him every sign suggested Ekko had left of his own will, chasing after Ezreal. Maybe Scar, who understood their bond better than anyone, could answer the question neither Caitlyn nor Vi could: why would Ekko abandon Zaun so abruptly—and with the mage, of all people?

Vi’s thoughts skidded between doubt and impossible hope and—as always—circled back to her baby sister.

Years ago, locked away in Stillwater, her only dream had been to break out, find Powder, apologize for their last words, and spend whatever life she had left rebuilding their family. The dream never came true. Death took Powder first.

Yet, Vi still felt her everywhere, as if the space between them were a thin, fraying thread. A child without parents is an orphan; a woman who loses her partner, a widow. But a sister remains a sister—even when the other is gone. 

Part of Vi died with Jinx, and nothing could fill that hollowed-out place.

She fingered the scrap of paper she’d pocketed from Ezreal’s room, crowded with frantic doodles that screamed of Jinx. How had he gotten hold of something like that? 

It made no sense. If Professor Lymere was right, Ezreal could never have met Jinx—and yet… everything Vi had uncovered about Ekko’s bond with her sister in those final weeks pointed straight back to Jinx. She had no proof, only certainty…

Vi had known Ekko since they were knee-high. Even then, the lengths he would go to for Powder exceeded ordinary friendship. Like twins, he used to shadow her, loving her long before any of them understood what love meant. 

So, when Vi tried to grasp why Ekko—the most self-sacrificing soul she’d ever met—would abandon Zaun in its bleakest hour, one name surfaced every time: Jinx.

The first—and maybe only—moment Vi could recall him choosing anyone over her sister was that night on the bridge, when he nearly died shielding Vi and Caitlyn from Jinx’s bullets. She wasn’t naïve; she knew it might not have been the first time Little Man had turned away from Jinx. They’d stood on opposite sides for years, ever since Jinx became Silco’s little raven. Even Zeri’s story about Jinx’s jealousy at that dance hinted that Ekko had already chosen something—or someone—other than her in the past. Back when she was still Powder, he would never have done that…

Yet, whatever fissures cracked their friendship, they had closed them in the end—closed them so tightly that Zeri swore the two were more than friends. 

Maybe Scar knew more. Vi ought to ask. The details meant little in the middle of this catastrophe, yet she craved them. She had only just accepted that Jinx was still her sister when reality struck: in many ways, Jinx had died a stranger.

That cut deepest—all that lost time, everything they might have been if Vi had shown more empathy, loosened her grip on tidy labels of good and bad. 

After loving her so fiercely, how had she managed to lose her twice?

Before vanishing, Ekko had flung the truth at her: she mourned a child named Powder, not the woman Jinx had become.

Vi meant to change that—even if doing so shattered her all over again.

She reached the tree on borrowed willpower, bruised moons under her eyes giving her away. Body, mind, soul—everything in overdraft. The kids lounging beneath the roots looked up, weighed her, and looked away. Curiosity tasted like judgment; either way, nobody waved. Nobody ever waved. Ekko’s absence pressed on the camp like smog, blurring anything else. 

No one dared to speak his name, but it was obvious they mourned him. 

Their leader.

Their brother.

The one who always came back—until he didn’t.

Vi inhaled, hoping the cold night would loosen the knot in her chest. It only froze it harder.

Then came the sounds.

A muffled whimper. Nasty laughter. A squeal that curdled her gut.

“Give it back! It’s mine!”

Vi spun. A rabbit plush arced through the gloom and thudded among the roots. The blue-haired girl lunged, but two boys blocked her with sneers and shoves.

“Gonna cry again? Think that’ll drag Ekko home?”

“Maybe if you hug your bunny hard enough, he’ll pop out of thin air!”

Vi didn’t think. She moved. One stride, one glare, and the bullies scattered like roaches. She scooped up the toy—one ear dangling by clumsy stitches that made her chest ache.

“Hand-sewn,” she murmured, smoothing the frayed cloth before handing it back. “Did Ekko give you this, kiddo? I used to have something like this, although I didn’t know he knew that. Figures. He never missed a thing.”

The girl hugged the rabbit as if it were lungs and heart together. Vi faced the boys.

“Feel big, swinging at someone half your size?”

Eyes dropped. One boy mumbled, thin as paper, “He said he wouldn’t leave…”

“He always says that” the other spat, anger wobbling. “But he’s gone. Nobody explains. Nobody listens like he did. I hate it. I hate him.”

Vi crouched. Jaw stone, pulse mud. She saw herself stamped on their faces—rage welded to grief, emotions too old and ugly for kids.

“Being angry is okay,” she said, voice low. “Being sad is okay. But this place stands because Ekko bled for it. He hasn’t ditched you. I’d know—I know him closer than his shadow.”

The first boy lifted red-rimmed eyes. “Then where is he?”

Silence wedged between them. Vi couldn’t patch that hole, but she could promise.

“He’s fighting. Sometimes love fights from far off. He’ll come back, or I’ll drag him by the collar if he doesn’t hurry up at that. But he’d hate seeing you two tear into her or anyone else here. In Zaun, the older guard the younger. That’s the rule I grew up on. Deal?”

The apology came before her command. “Sorry, Bonnie.” 

They meant it. The girl dabbed tears away with a sleeve already salted white as she nodded. The air eased, one notch lighter.

“Lior, Riven, Bonnie! What are you up to? Dinner’s almost ready! Go wash up and get to the hall before all that’s left are crumbs!” 

Barb called, little Ember balanced on one hip, and the kids bolted to obey. She stayed, her stern brow softened by the infant weaving fingers through her hair.

“Why are you here? Hope you didn’t ladle false hope. Missing Ekko hurts enough.”

“It’s real,” Vi answered. “Need to talk with you and Scar—share what scraps we’ve got. Bad moment?”

“These days every moment’s bad,” Barb sighed, tired down to the bones Ekko once covered. “But if it’s news, come. Just mind Ember’s schedule, or we will drown in screams. She likes her solitude as well as her folks…”

A small laugh cracked from Vi—memory of sleepless nights, baby Powder wailing, Vi cursing the universe and loving her anyway—the first uncut joy she could remember.

She followed Scar down the rust-stained hallway and into the shoebox he and Barb called home. One room, two cots, a crib, a hotplate—end of tour. At the sight of her, Scar slid one more dented plate onto the table. No words. Barb clipped their kid into the highchair, handed her a spoon, and kept her eyes on the floor, expecting.

Vi cleared her throat. “No sign Ekko was grabbed, iced, or… you know. Did himself in.”

Fork halfway up, Barb froze. Scar’s jaw twitched.

“Sure?”

“Yeah.” Vi let the air out slowly. “Looks like he left on his own accord. With Ezreal.”

Scar raised a brow. “Blond klepto? Shiny stuff, Ezreal?”

“That one. Tracks point to Bilgewater.”

Vi snorted. “That one. Word is they bolted together. Trail heads toward Bilgewater.”

Barb frowned. “Bilgewater? What would Ekko want in that pirate dump?”

“That’s what I’m trying to crack. Ezreal’s a piltie magpie. But Ekko? He sticks local.”

“Maybe he followed Ez for something big,” Scar said, folding his arms. “We weren’t best buds, but we had each other’s backs. I even gave him a line so he could call home. Kid’s loyal; if Ezreal asked, he’d go.”

Barb shook her head. “He’d still drop a note. This smells off.”

“So why to ghost?”

“He wouldn’t—unless it was life-or-death. Last time he vanished, the tree was rotting from a hex leak. Ran off with a Yordle prof to yell at Jayce Talis. Came back different. No yordle. Weird gadget he never explained. And Jinx—half-dead—in his arms…”

Vi swallowed hard, too shocked to speak. Half-dead? What had happened to her after she broke out of prison? She knew Jinx had torched the Last Drop, but what had left her in that state? And why had Ekko been there in time to save her? 

She was grateful, but it made no sense.  

Scar kept talking, softer now. “She stayed with us after that. Turned into a banner. Jinxers, Vyx’s crew—even strays from Smeech and Chross—swarmed them. No one knows how the truce happened, just that it did. For a few weeks, Ekko and Jinx glued all of Zaun together. First—and probably last—time in forever.”

Vi stared at the floor, hesitant but curious. “So, it’s true? They were… more than partners?”

Scar and Barb traded a look. Silence snapped—then Barb chuckled.

“Who’s telling it?” she asked.

Scar lifted his hands. “I’m not lying to Vi, and I’m not taking the blame either. Be my guest.”

Barb’s grin was all crooked edges. “Fine. They never showed off. But when a girl who hates hugs nods off on some guy’s shoulder mid-meeting—or when a guy who guards his gear like gold lets her paint every inch of him… Come on, gears don’t lie.”

“And when she called him an idiot,” Scar said, “then stayed up all night rewiring the airship, so his math worked out—that wasn’t normal either. She knew how to drive him nuts, then fix him, and he allowed it. Janna knows that little man could be moody.”

Barb’s eyes sparkled. “Whenever they fought, the tree cleared out. Folks knew it would end one of two ways: a boom big enough to rattle Piltover, or the workshop door slamming and no one coming out till dawn.”

Vi’s jaw hung open. Even the toddler, clueless, giggled at her face.

“My face was the same,” Scar chuckled. “After Jinx nearly shredded me trying to smoke Zeri out of jealousy, and especially after that maniac shot Eve, Ekko and I both swore, ‘Fuck her.’ Turns out we meant different.”

Vi groaned into her palm. “She was my kid sister, for Janna’s sake!”

“World was caving in, or so it seemed,” Barb shrugged. “People acted like tomorrow’s canceled. They fight, they eat, they… yeah. The same thing happened after the plague— that’s why we’ve already got three knocked-ups around here.”

“I hate you both. A simple ‘yes’ would’ve worked.”

“You just had to hear it. We lived it,” Scar said, softer now. “Jokes aside—they loved each other. Anyone with eyes saw it. You saw it. Losing her gutted him. Hit all of us. She showed up like an outsider and left as a sister.”

“Kids won’t stop sketching her,” Barb added. “A lot of them swear he’s just out hunting for her, that they’ll stroll back, hand in hand. Cute lie.”

The air went heavy. Jinx’s absence settled like smog—quiet, choking.

Even if Ekko came back home… Jinx wouldn’t. Nothing would patch that hole.

“Look—you’re keeping everyone fed and breathing, and sometimes that’s enough. But the little ones feel tossed aside. I don’t know what Ekko did exactly for them… but they just miss him.”

“He played with them,” Scar said. “Taught the stuff school skips. Listened. Some kids showed up nameless—he fixed that. Bonnie? I’m sure she believes he is her dad. Being with kids was easy for him. For Jinx, too. More than her bombs or guts, that’s how she got the Firelights—and us—to accept her and eventually follow her. Nobody thought pure chaos could guard the runts like that. The little ones adored her.”

Vi only grunted. She pictured her sister hugging that mute girl she’d claimed. How the kid who always needed saving turned into the savior… Vi still couldn’t wrap her head around it, but she respected it. Dragging Jinx away—knowing Jinx would’ve died with the girl if Vi hadn’t—was still the worst thing she’d ever done in her lowlife.

“Scar!” A teenager burst in, making them flinch. “Piltover’s at it again! Come look!”

Vi and Scar bolted outside while Barb stayed back with Ember. Up the tree they climbed—and saw it: Zaun wasn’t dotted with the usual neon freckles. 

It was pitch-black. Power cut.

For some reason, the tree kept glowing, a giant “here we are” sign—good for friends, perfect for enemies.

“Everything off,” Scar muttered. “Crash here if you want, Vi. There are spare bunks in the other rooms. But you’re not roaming in this blackout. Piltover’s plotting. Even if it’s just fear games, streets are trouble now.”

Vi’s mind shot to Caitlyn—how she’d freak when she reached Mrs. Talis’s place and found Vi gone, smack in Piltover’s latest stunt.

Scar explained they had an old generator he and Ekko built with Zeri. Barely enough for a few lamps and the fridge—nothing fancy, but it kept food and medicine alright.

Vi helped herd everyone inside before lights-out, then offered to keep watch. If the glow had painted a target, guests might show.

“Not sleeping anyway,” she told Barb and Scar. They finally nodded.

Darkness engulfed the room. Only the dying whir of the generator and a chorus of bugs buzzed on, like echoes too stubborn to quit. Vi sat at the window, staring at a black spot beyond the glass, seeing nothing.

She’d learned too much, too fast.

Ekko wasn’t just a leader; he was a father, brother, mentor, and warmth for the lost. His absence felt like a raw cut across the whole district.

And on top of that, he’d been her sister’s lover.

Ezreal? She’d never trusted him. But hearing Scar swear the mage meant Ekko no harm soothed her as much as it scattered her. What did that shiny sorcerer want?

Something about Jinx? About Ekko? Both? 

Why were those three of all people, knotted so tight?

One missing.

One meddling outsider.

And the third…

The third was dead.

Or so Vi told herself. Believing it hurt. Doubting it? Pure torture. 

How could someone supposedly dead keep tugging so many living strings?

Then Vi understood. Caitlyn had never said aloud what both of them feared—that Jinx might have crawled out of the blast that should’ve killed her. Because if living with Jinx’s death already hollowed Vi out, imagining Jinx alive would drag her under—obsession, longing, guilt—a whirlpool with no bottom.

The thought was still melting when a shrill ring carved through the gloom.

A phone. At that moment?

Vi lurched up, pawing the dark. No one could wake up now—nerves were shredded, and a baby slept nearby. The ring died before she found the handset. She swore, smacking around the table and the wobbly shelf. The ring flared again.

She snatched it. A hacked-up landline, tuned to behave like a Piltover cell in emergencies. The screen glimmered. Unknown number, but the first three digits punched her memory—too familiar.

They clicked with someone.

Sarah.

Those were her lucky numbers; she could recall that from sleepless prison nights, when they traded stories to stay sane. 

Numbers from home, she said. From Bilgewater.

Ezreal. 

Scar had given him a number to reach the Firelights about home.

Was it him? Was Ekko with him? Were they safe?

Before she could do anything, the call died.

“Damn it!” No log, no redial. Rage, fear, hope—she drummed the window frame, eyes squeezed shut.

The phone shrieked a third time.

She answered on instinct, heart ricocheting. “Ezreal?”

Silence.

Then a rasping woman’s voice, dazed: “Barb?”

Vi froze. She knew that voice. But it was impossible…

“Who… who is this?” Her throat cracked; her pulse slammed.

A gasp. A shake. A swallowed sob on the line.

“Vi…?”

Her name, in that unmistakable voice, one she’d recognize even after years of silence.

It was her.

Everything inside Vi blanked. Breathless, thoughtless—only feeling.

She gripped the phone hard enough to splinter it, clinging to the little plastic shape that had just blown her cracked world open.

Jinx was alive.

Chapter Text

“What the hell—are you out of your goddamn mind, you maniac?!”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to?” Vi’s knuckles clenched white around the phone. “You fake your death, vanish for months, and let everyone rot thinking you were—” her voice cracked, raw and trembling, “—that you were gone. And now you just—what? Call from wherever the fuck you are, like nothing happened?”

“I didn’t call you. I wasn’t ready for you to pick up…”

“Oh, you weren’t ready?” Vi laughed, but it was dry, bitter, and cracked in the middle. “That’s rich. That’s so—Janna, Jinx, do you even know what you’ve done? To me? To Zaun? To Ekko? You let us mourn you. You let us bury you in our minds like fools. And now what—you call me for fun? To hear me sob? To check how broken I am without you?”

“I know exactly what I’ve done.” Jinx’s voice came out low and ragged. “That’s why I tried to stay dead.”

“Bullshit. You are full of bullshit.”

“You don’t know anything!” Jinx snapped, but her voice trembled too. “I did it for you! So, you could finally be happy—without me screwing it up again!”

“Oh, shut up with that martyr garbage!” Vi spat, pacing the room like a caged animal. “You think faking your death was some kind of twisted gift? Like I’m supposed to say, ‘Thanks for letting me grieve you, Jinx’?! Fuck that and fuck you!”

“I thought… I thought you and Caitlyn—”

“No. Don’t. Don’t you dare make this about her.”

“You chose her. Over me. Like always. And maybe that’s fine. You deserve to be happy. But not while I rot. Not while you move on like I never existed. You think I can just act like you didn’t pick her over me, when I never would’ve done that to you!”

“Oh, but you did, didn’t you?” Vi’s voice sharpened. “Out of everyone in Zaun, you clung to Silco. Like he hadn’t ruined our lives.”

“Because he was there, Vi! When you weren’t! And I still would’ve turned on him for you! But maybe I shouldn’t have. Because he was ready to give up everything for me, and you—you tried to blow my head off.”

Vi flinched like the memory hit her between the ribs. “Why does it always have to be like this with you? Him or me. Me or Caitlyn. When the fuck did I ever ask you to choose like that? When did I put you in a spot where one wrong move could cost someone’s life? That’s not love, Jinx.”

“Don’t pretend you ever knew how to love me the way I am. You swore you’d always find me. You promised. But that changed the second you saw I wasn’t that same sobbing kid begging for your forgiveness in that alley. You think I haven’t loved other people? I have. But I still would’ve picked you! You were all I ever wanted, all I ever loved! You broke your promise to me for someone who bailed on you the first time it got hard. There was no loyalty. You were supposed to love me.”

“I did! I do! But love’s not a damn excuse for letting you set fire to everything! What was I supposed to do? Stand by while you blow up the last pieces of the girl I used to know, of the woman I love? Caitlyn didn’t make me choose between you and me. You did.”

“Oh, so what, you hunted me down not out of love for her, but just because you wanted to? Good to know. And yeah—I set everything on fire. So what? Don’t act all high and mighty, Miss Punch-My-Feelings-Away. You never even tried to understand me.”

“Because there’s no understanding the mess you’ve become! You said you'd always stay with me, and then you went and put death between us.”

There was a long, ragged silence.

“You still think I’m a monster,” Jinx whispered. “Even now. After everything. You don’t see me.”

“I see you too clearly, Jinx. That’s the problem.” Vi’s voice cracked under the weight of it. “Why’d you do this to me, Powder? You were supposed to be dead. And I was supposed to learn how to survive with that pain. But now… I don’t know what’s real anymore. About anyone.”

“Don’t call me that.” Jinx’s voice turned to ice. “You killed Powder. Every time you chose someone else.”

Vi didn’t respond. She couldn’t. That silence said it all.

“Every time you looked at me like I was a mistake you had to fix,” Jinx added, her voice breaking. “This… This was a mistake. I should’ve stayed away. We’re better off dead to each other.”

“No. Don’t—don’t say that” Vi choked, and now the anger had dissolved into something worse—grief, clawing its way up her throat. “Please. I know I hurt you. But I’m here now. Talk to me. Please, Jinx. Just tell me where you are. Just stay—”

“If I tell you… You’ll hate me even more.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Yes, you do. You’re just too good to say it. But I can hear it. In your voice. In the way you spit my name like it burns your mouth.”

Vi swallowed hard. Her hand trembled around the phone. “What the hell is going on with you? Just tell me. For Janna’s sake.”

“It’s not your problem anymore,” Jinx whispered. “You wanted the truth? Here it is. I’m alive, and you’re angry. So, nothing’s changed. Nothing, except that I’m not your problem anymore. And you’re not my everything anymore. We will survive this...”

“Don’t you dare hang up, Jinx, or I swear—”

“You promised you’d always find me. Please don’t do it this time.”

Vi’s hands trembled around the phone long after the call had ended. 

The deadline hissed in her ear, and then…

She screamed.

Not a sharp shout. Not something you could bottle up or push down. It ripped out of her, wild and ragged, and she slammed the phone against the wall with such force that it cracked the surface and sent shards skittering across the floor. She clawed at her scalp, pulled at her hair, and paced in tight circles like a caged animal before collapsing to her knees with another cry—this one wordless and gut-deep. 

Her chest heaved, and she punched the floor. Once. Twice. Again. Again.

She wanted to shatter something. Break everything. Break herself.

“FUCK! FUCK, FUCK, FUCK—!” Her voice cracked completely, swallowed by sobs. Her face crumpled as tears finally broke free, and she curled in on herself, fists tight against her mouth like she could stuff the grief back inside if she just clenched hard enough.

A baby’s wail split through the walls.

Then—

“Vi, what the fuck!?” Barb’s voice muffled and groggy. The door slammed open, and she stumbled in wearing someone else’s oversized shirt and boxer shorts, her braid undone and eyes furious. “It’s three in the damn morning, what the hell is—”

Scar followed close behind, shirtless and half asleep, cradling a now-sobbing Ember against his chest. “The baby—Vi, did something happen? Are we under attack? Why are you—?”

They froze.

Barb’s anger cracked first, giving way to alarm.

Vi was on her knees, fists bloodied and trembling, eyes swollen, breath hitching like her lungs couldn’t decide if they wanted to scream or collapse.

Barb knelt beside her slowly, cautiously, as if she were some kind of wounded wild animal. “Vi? Vi, talk to me.”

“She called,” Vi rasped. “She called. She’s alive.”

Scar blinked. “What?”

“Jinx,” Vi said, curling her arms around her knees like she was trying to hold herself together. “Jinx called me. Just now. She’s not dead. She’s not—”

Barb took a sharp breath. “Vi, are you sure? You—maybe it was a trick, or a recording, or someone else, and you confused her voice—”

“She talked to me. Fought with me. Screamed at me like only she can.” Her throat bobbed. “She said I broke her. That she did it to protect me. She sounded… gone. And I fucked up, and she hates me now. Why can’t I ever get it right with her? “

Scar rocked Ember gently, trying to soothe her. “I mean… she’s Jinx. She could fake her death. If anyone could pull that off—shit. But… are you sure it was her?”

“She’s alive,” Vi snapped, voice sharper now, panicked. “She’s alive and hurting, and she hung up on me. She hung up on me.”

Barb put a hand on her shoulder, firm but soft. “Okay. Okay. Deep breath, bruiser.”

Vi shoved it off, not cruelly, just… out of control. “Don’t tell me to calm down. I let myself believe she was dead, and I hated her for it, and now I don’t even know what the fuck I’m supposed to feel. She was dead. And now she’s not, and she sounds like she’s dying anyway!”

Barb backed off, guilt flickering in her face. Ember wailed louder.

Scar murmured, “Vi. Look at me.” She didn’t. “Vi.”

Finally, she turned.

“You’re bleeding,” he said gently, nodding to her scraped-up knuckles. “And Ember is screaming her lungs out. Come here; we must have some first aid kit somewhere…”

“I don’t need your help…”

“Bullshit,” Scar said immediately. “You’re hurting. You need and deserve help. Please.”

Barb stepped in again, her voice quieter this time. “Did she say anything about where to find her? Why did she pull out this ‘being dead’ nonsense in the first place? 

“No. Just that if she told me, I’d hate her more.”

Scar’s brows furrowed. “Hate her for what?”

“I don’t know,” Vi said. “But the way she said it… It’s bad.”

No one spoke for a moment. Ember’s cries faded into soft hiccups as Scar gently rocked her, and Barb cured Vi’s wounded hands with great care. A mother’s touch…

Barb rubbed her eyes. “So… what now?”

Vi looked up at them, eyes wet and wild. 

But despite the pain, she also looked determined.

“I have to find her.”

(...)

Sarah Fortune had learned from her mother that all debts must be paid. It was a principle that had cost Abigale her life and robbed Sarah of her future, for that lesson had guided every decision she made since the night Gangplank's fire turned her happy little family to ash.

All debts must be paid—and while the life of a wretch like him would never make up for the loss of her parents, Miss Fortune wouldn’t rest until his debt to her was repaid in blood.

Of course, he wasn’t the only one who dared hurt her during those early years, back when she was just a scrappy little girl who’d barely survived the smoke and the burns her father had died trying to shield her from.

No: the moment she left the hospital, the world closed in on her, even though she was just ten years old. She was completely alone, surviving on the fading loyalty of a few of her parents’ friends, but vulnerable all the same to the cruelty Bilgewater reserves for the weak. She lost count of how many saw her desperation—her frantic hunger for something to call her own after losing everything in one night—and took shameless advantage of her helplessness.

And though she had the pleasure of killing or locking up many of those bastards in the years that followed, during her time as Misfortune, the youngest bounty hunter of the Seven Seas, many others got away.

Some had the luck to die before she became dangerous; others ran fast enough that she never caught them.

There was no more bitter thought for Sarah than those cowards who slipped through her fingers. But she took comfort in knowing that, for those still alive, the bill would come due eventually. Revenge, after all, is a dish best served cold—Sarah knew that well. She wasn’t in a rush for her feast.

Her trip to Demacia had one purpose: to feed her hunger for vengeance.

For years, during her father’s voyages aboard The Charming Lady, now The Maelstrom, a wealthy man from Piltover with a taste for weaponry had been one of her mother’s most loyal clients. Anthony Fortune had acted as a smuggler, moving contraband across regions—be it weapons crafted by his wife or rare artifacts, like Piltover tech smuggled into backward places like Demacia.

That's what attracted the Belmonts, a noble Demacian family, and the Kirammans from Piltover, who purchased weapons from her mother and old Shuriman relics for their collection. But unlike the Kirammans, who had always honored their agreements, the Belmonts were less graceful.

After her parents were murdered, the Belmonts refused to pay the full amount they owed for the gear they had received for their absurd mage hunts. They believed that little Sarah Fortune wouldn’t survive long enough to claim what was rightfully hers, including the goods that had been stolen from the Fortunes and sold to them by other mercenaries from the port. They thought she had no way to reach them across the sea, especially without a ship. They never imagined that the brat they underestimated would grow into the captain of The Siren and The Maelstrom, Pirate Queen of Bilgewater. And even less, that after so many conquests, enemies vanquished, and duties fulfilled, the great Miss Fortune would still find the time and energy to think about how to destroy them after all those years. 

But just as they were wrong in thinking she’d die alone, they were wrong to believe she’d forget the names of those who betrayed her parents—and by extension, her.

Her mother had taught her that all debts must be paid.

Her father had taught her that offenses might be forgiven, but never forgotten.

She didn’t need the money anymore. But she had gone hungry more than once. She had done unspeakable things for a few coins, all because of the greed of those treacherous thieves who wouldn’t have lost anything by paying her what they owed. 

And for that pain, for that humiliation, she would see them burn. Sooner or later.

She had never lost sight of her goal, always waiting for the right moment to strike and win.

Until a message from a Demacian lover gave her exactly what she needed: the Royal Guard had placed the Belmonts under investigation for theft, tax evasion, and illegal trade both locally and abroad. According to a reliable source, their most valuable treasures were kept in a vault in the north. Eldric lived off selling rumors and secrets to the highest bidder—and he knew better than to lie to her. Sarah trusted his word.

She didn’t even have to set foot in the region.

Somewhere at sea, on her way there, a weary carrier pigeon landed on The Siren, seeking rest. That’s how she intercepted Garen’s letter—yes, that Garen, of the Dauntless Vanguard. She knew of him but didn’t know him personally. 

It intrigued her.

From the pigeon’s message, she learned that he was a hypocrite: a knight who waged war against mages by royal decree yet sought enchanted items to protect himself from magic. And something to mask magical traces… Was there a mage or a witch he loved and wanted to protect? It was just a theory, but it made sense to her.

She sent him a letter filled with all the information she had on the Belmonts: years of illegal activities, including specific locations, dates, and names. Most importantly, she revealed the location of the vault containing the evidence against them. 

In return, she asked for only one thing: that they receive the harshest possible sentence for possessing so many magical artifacts. Additionally, if he happened to find a pearl and aquamarine necklace in the vault, she requested that he send it to her, as it had belonged to her late mother. In exchange, she promised to keep quiet about his… more questionable dealings. Far from the gossipy ears of the crown…

As a gesture of good faith, she tied to the bird’s leg a charm made to protect whoever he wished to hide and a tiny vial of mermaid’s blood—capable of healing any wound in battle.

Three days later, after stopping at one of the many island ports along the way, she received news from Eldric: House Belmont was in ruins. Their patriarch and his brothers and spouses had been hanged for treason, found guilty on all charges.

Whether the death penalty was truly just for financial crimes was of no concern to Sarah. For what they had done to her, they deserved worse.

And although she regretted not having killed them herself, she found comfort in the thought that—beyond the death of their kin—the public humiliation of falling from nobles to outcasts, a legacy passed down from patriarch to child, barely compared to the pain their greed had caused her for years.

Just as Sarah had paid for her betrayal, now it was their heirs’ turn. The difference was that, unlike she had been, they were no longer helpless children to have pity for.

And now, avenged, she was ready to face whatever disaster had unfolded at home during her absence.

She was reading Rafen’s last letter—Eldric, ever prudent, had sent her all the correspondence that had arrived while she was away; everyone already assumed she was in Demacia—while absentmindedly toying with the necklace Garen had sent her that same morning. 

Once again, luck was on her side: she had come away from that trip with far more than she'd planned...

“Two lovers in Demacia now? Captain, you’re shameless!” Sandy teased, raising a brow.

“I wish that were the case, Sandy,” Sarah replied with a crooked smile. “But I’m afraid Garen’s still a stranger… for now. A girl’s got to keep her options open in every region, don’t you think? Just in case someone breaks my heart.”

Sandy and Izzy burst out laughing. They knew her far too well to be scandalized—they knew Sarah hadn’t always been like this. Life had made her this way, and it was hard to judge her knowing that.

“And what does old Rafen say?”

“Bad news,” she said, tucking the letter into her coat. “But at least he got us a small fortune. And he followed through on what I asked, so I won’t complain. I pushed him hard, especially considering how much he hates Jinx… but at least he seems to like Ekko. Must remind him of Killian.”

Rafen’s son and Sarah’s first boyfriend in her teenage years. They ended up just good friends; their long-term goals couldn’t have been more different. Now he owned Sarah’s favorite tavern, The Kraken, with his beautiful wife, Emmeline.

Strangely, Sarah ended up having more in common with her ex’s father, which is why they still kept in touch.

“I just hope they didn’t scam me with this wine. They say it’s not only delicious but also an aphrodisiac… and boosts fertility. Emmy told me they haven’t been able to conceive, and I know they’ve wanted kids for a long time. I plan to give it to them for their anniversary. Let them toast with something special…”

“Life’s unfair. It’s always the ones who want kids who can’t have them, and the ones who don’t who end up knocked up by accident. Can you imagine Rafen as a grandfather?”

“I can. You’re too hard on him—he’s better than he seems.”

No one could quite understand what wonderful virtue Sarah saw in that grumpy old man, but no one dared question it in front of her.

“I almost regret how efficient he was. If what he says in the letter is true, I probably won’t even get to see Jinx again. They were four days away from Bilgewater when he wrote it. If Ekko’s as smart as they say and considering how indecisive and madly in love Jinx is with him, I doubt it’ll take long for him to give her a good reason to go back with him to Zaun. Guess I’ll have to ship all the gifts I bought… later.”

Even when she had nothing, Sarah Fortune had always been generous with those who touched even a small part of her heart. And now that her treasure was growing, the pirate collected gifts on her travels around the world: barrels of foreign liquor to share with her crew, personal trinkets for her officers, and heaps of presents for her godchildren on the island.

Although she was fortunate not to be a mother—and sadly, she never had siblings to make her an aunt—many of her friends honored her by naming her godmother to their little ones. And though Jinx’s baby wasn’t hers in any way, she still bought a few things: rattles, stuffed animals, and clothes in a variety of colors, since she doubted Jinx would mind dressing her daughter in traditionally masculine tones, or the other way around. She also picked out items that, according to the market artisans, would be useful during pregnancy and nursing. 

And, of course, jewelry—brooches, earrings, and necklaces, all bright and colorful—because a love for shiny things was something they both shared.

“I hope she’s alright, wherever she is. And I hope we’re home soon.”

“If that is your wish, then so it shall be. The sea is kind to you, and fortune favors you.”

“Let’s hope you’re right, Izzy. Let’s hope so.”

Sarah owed a debt to Vi. 

And though she understood it was unlikely she’d ever see her again to settle things face-to-face, she still clung to the hope of contributing to her happiness somehow. 

Maybe helping bring Jinx back safe and sound could be enough to repay it, once and for all…

(...)

Caitlyn was sick of the Ferros.

In moments like this, she wished she had just a bit of Vi’s reckless fire—that fearless defiance that let her face arrogance without a second thought. 

But Caitlyn didn’t have that luxury anymore.

Some impulsive decisions—like breaking Vi out of Stillwater with no solid proof it was right—had turned out well. Fantastically well, in fact, against all odds.

Still, she knew it wouldn’t always be like that.

Her parents had instilled the value of restraint, and her training as a sharpshooter had only reinforced the importance of acting with a clear, cold mind. 

But some days, pretending to be made of ice was exhausting. Especially when everything around her, even the sky, seemed to demand the one thing she no longer had to give: patience.

And Laurent Ferros had always tested that patience…

The crime scene reeked of molten metal, old smoke… and politics.

The charred remains of the cable car hung from the wires like a warning.

In the distance, Stillwater’s scaffolding stood ghostlike against the horizon. But what caught her attention was the control panel—it had exploded differently than the rest of the carriages, as if it had somehow overheated. Unlikely, given the strict regulation of Piltover’s energy grids, precisely to avoid this kind of accident.

Where had that much power come from, all at once, without leaving a trace of its source or any residual surge?

“Zeri…” she thought, remembering how that girl bent the laws of physics to her will, conjuring sparks from nothing. But she decided not to say anything. Not yet anyway.

She inspected the perimeter in silence until Laurent’s pompous voice cut through her thoughts.

“I’m glad you came so quickly, Officer Kiramman,” he said, with that ceremonial tone he used when he wanted to remind everyone he was the one giving orders now. “Not everyone shares your sense of duty.”

Caitlyn didn’t bother hiding her skepticism.

“I’m surprised you called me for something this serious. Just hours ago, according to you, my job was to patrol plazas and report petty thefts. What changed?”

“I thought some time dealing with trivialities would take the weight off your shoulders…”

“You mean, you thought it’d be more humiliating for me. As it always was your goal even back in school. No need to pretend otherwise. Why did you call me, Commander?”

Laurent smiled with fake courtesy.

“That’s exactly why I sidelined you, Caitlyn. You’ve gone soft. Softer than you already were. Too close to Zaun for your good. And now look: they’re bombing our cableways. Still don’t see it?”

She didn’t miss the jab at her eye patch and was grateful her rifle’s safety was still on. If it hadn’t been, rage might have made her do something she’d regret.

“What I see,” Caitlyn replied, folding her arms, “is that whoever did this made sure no one died. Not a prisoner. Not a guard. The attack happened during a test run with empty cars. That shows intent, yes… but also boundaries. They meant no harm…”

“Boundaries? Are you seriously justifying this?”

“I’m reading the facts. If I had to guess a motive, I’d say this was a warning. Maybe a way to stop more people from being sent to Stillwater. Especially now that arbitrary detentions are becoming more and more common.”

“‘Arbitrary’?” he repeated, feigning outrage. “We’ve arrested criminals, Caitlyn. People vandalizing the streets with hate, with violence. And judging by this, it hasn’t been enough.”

“Not everyone who protests is a criminal, Laurent,” she said calmly, though her voice trembled with restrained fury. “Not as long as we keep arresting people for what they believe instead of what they do. Graffiti doesn’t compare to curfews backed by prison threats.”

“If they could do the same to us, you know they would.”

He stared at her for a moment. Then his expression softened, as if something occurred to him.

“By the way… that boy you mentioned the other time. Ekko.”

“The other time? When you arrested me for protecting civilians?”

“When you pointed a gun at me, yes. Maybe we were wrong to turn a blind eye back then. If we find him, maybe it’ll help ease the tensions between the districts.”

Caitlyn gave him a wary side glance. That shift in attitude didn’t add up.

“Now you care?”

“I know you, Cait. I know you’ve been looking into him. Whether for your ideals… or as a favor to your girlfriend,” he added, with a barely concealed sneer. “What do you know? We could help. No one wants another war. At least, I don’t.”

She held his gaze in silence for a few seconds. Then replied firmly:

“I want that even less. But I can’t focus on that right now, Laurent. I haven’t even gotten answers about my father’s disappearance.”

“We’re doing everything we can,” he said, stepping closer. “You know that, right?”

Caitlyn stared him down.

There was no gratitude in her eyes. No faith. Only a silent warning: Don’t lie to me.

“Are we?” she replied, then walked away before he could answer, seething.

Caitlyn got home with her knuckles clenched around her rifle, muscles tight, and throat dry. The door opened before she could knock—Mrs. Talis had been pacing for hours, worried about how late it was.

“Where’s Vi?” she asked bluntly.

Ximena’s expression was all she needed for the weight of the day to come crashing down.

“I thought she was with you,” the woman replied, frowning. “She hasn’t come back.”

The world crumbled beneath her.

She awkwardly shrugged off her coat and let it fall to the couch. She couldn’t fake composure anymore. She wandered through the room, gasping for air, before leaning against the fireplace mantle, as if she needed it to stay upright.

“She wouldn’t go off-track. Not with the city like this…” she murmured, mostly to herself.

“Maybe she’s just delayed. She could’ve taken shelter in a station or… be on her way. But you shouldn’t go out, Caitlyn. It’s late, tensions are high… and you’re—” Ximena hesitated. “You’re exhausted. You need rest.”

“I won’t sleep knowing she’s not here,” Caitlyn shot back, already at the door, pulling her coat back on. Ximena tried to stop her, distressed.

“Listen to me, Cait. This isn’t a routine patrol. They warned about it over the radio—blackouts, riots, overrun enforcers. If something happens to you…”

‘So that’s why he called me. To keep me busy…’ Caitlyn thought, blazing with anger.

She hated the Ferros.

“If something happened to Vi and I just stayed here, I’d never forgive myself,” she interrupted, her voice low but firm, like speaking it aloud cracked something inside her. “Please. Let me go. I promise we’ll come back…”

Ximena stepped aside reluctantly, not before whispering prayers to gods Caitlyn didn’t even know.

Outside, the city greeted her with a dull, oppressive hum. 

It wasn’t the usual bustle or the wind howling through the towers. It was absence. Everything was dark. The blackout had reached even the middle districts of Piltover. The cable car to Zaun was shut down. Not a single lamp lit…

“By the Ancestors… Mom, light my way,” she whispered, fumbling for her radio. “Seb, are you there? Kiramman here.”

There was static for a few seconds before a choppy voice came through.

“Kiramman… Where are you? You shouldn’t be out right now.”

“What’s happening?”

“We’ve been ordered to arrest multiple suspects linked to a gang. Don’t worry—Vi’s not on the list. The priority target is someone named Zeri. Do you know her?”

Her heart clenched. Caitlyn shut her eyes.

“Zeri? Who gave the order?”

“Laurent, I think. He met with the higher-ups. I don’t know the details. Just the directive.”

‘He’s not as stupid as I thought…’ she fumed.

“Any word on Vi?”

“No. Sorry. But sometimes, no news is good news.”

She hung up before he could say more.

For a moment, she stood frozen. As if her body refused to choose.

Vi or Zeri. Duty or love. The odds that could twist everything…

“Vi can take care of herself,” she told herself, not quite believing it, but needing something to hold onto to survive the night. “Zeri’s an easy target. Her family, too…”

Descending into Zaun without power was like falling into a bottomless void.

The usual paths were blocked or swarming. She barely made it through by crossing rooftops, industrial vents, and anchoring cables—just like Vi had taught her. 

She slipped once, rolled across a metal surface, cut her palm on something sharp, but didn’t stop. Echoes of footsteps distorted around her, and flashlights from other enforcers forced her to hide in ducts or shadows more than once. 

But turning back was not an option. Not with so much at stake…

She finally reached the sector where Zeri lived.

Everything was still in darkness, except for the occasional flicker of a faint spark dancing in the air—most likely Zeri’s attempts to restore the power.

Caitlyn knocked hard, but there was no response. The door wasn’t locked.

She stepped inside cautiously…

“Zeri! It’s me, Caitlyn Kiramman!”

They hadn’t heard her.

Or maybe they had—and recognized her last name as that of an enemy.

A weapon greeted her the moment she poked her head through the door.

She raised her hands, but even in surrender, a shot grazed her cheek.

She didn’t dare look as her attacker reloaded. There wasn’t enough time to react. She thought of Vi, of her father... of Jayce, and her mother—waiting to receive her...

“STOP!” Zeri shouted before her father could fire again. The man froze, confused.

When Caitlyn dared to open her eyes, she saw him trembling. 

He clearly wasn’t used to pulling the trigger.

“You’re insane for barging in like that, Kiramman,” Zeri snapped. “What are you doing here? Where’s Vi?”

“I came to warn you. They’re coming for you. For all of you. There are arrest orders because of your little stunt on the cable car. We have to go. Now.”

Zeri didn’t ask how she knew. She didn’t waste time denying it either.

She turned to her parents and younger siblings, still half-dressed and stunned to see an enforcer helping them escape. To see Zeri defending her…

“We’re leaving,” she said. “To the tree. It’s the only safe place left in Zaun.”

Caitlyn guided them as best she could through hidden paths she barely remembered from the few times she’d been there since Ekko’s disappearance.

She was grateful for Zeri’s sparks lighting the way—and for the fact that Zeri also knew where to go. With the radio, they avoided a patrol. They leaped over a couple of fences. An explosion in another sector saved them from being spotted, drawing attention elsewhere. 

And as they pushed forward, barely holding it together—with Zeri carrying her sleeping sister and Caitlyn helping her stay on her feet, knowing they’d survive the night... She could only think of Vi. 

Of how much she wanted her to be there, at the tree, waiting for her, safe and sound. 

And that she’d better have a damn good reason for making her go through that night.

(...)

The room felt too quiet after the call ended.

Not really silent—silent would have been merciful. It was the kind of quiet that rang, humming at the edges like something broken, but still alive; the quiet that follows a storm. Worse than the voices that had haunted her most of her life, because she was certain this was real. 

Jinx stood frozen, the phone still clutched in her hand, shaking. 

She hates me more than ever, and I deserve it. 

Her legs gave out first. 

She collapsed to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, one bruised knee jarring hard against the wooden boards—but she barely felt it. Her body had turned numb, except for the pressure behind her ribs. 

That pressure, tight and suffocating, was the only thing keeping her from splintering.

“Jinx?” Ahri’s voice was soft, afraid of making it worse. “Talk to me. Please.”

Nothing. Jinx stared ahead, jaw slack, as tears blurred her vision.

“I shouldn’t have called,” she whispered eventually, though her voice didn’t sound like her own. It sounded small. Wrong. “I shouldn’t have called, I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have—”

Ahri stepped forward at last, cautiously, like approaching a wounded animal. 

Her aura flared—not visibly, not to the eye, but subtly, a warm pressure in the air. With her magic, she tried to push calm into the room: slow the racing heartbeat and soothe the panic fraying Jinx’s nerves.

But Jinx wasn’t responding.

She was trembling now. Shaking, really, in great, violent waves, like her body was rejecting itself. Her breath came too fast and too shallow. Her nails dug into her arms, trying to find something real to anchor her.

“I just wanted her to understand,” she gasped. “I just—I wanted her to know why, that’s all. To know if she was fine. But she hates me. I heard it. I heard it in her voice—she still sees me like a monster.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Ahri said gently. “She’s scared and hurt. You both are.”

“Then why did she sound like that? Why did it feel like dying all over again?”

Ahri knelt beside her, placing a hand near her shoulder but not touching—not yet. Her magic flared again, more urgent this time. But Jinx flinched like it burned.

“Don’t—” Her breath caught. Her hand moved to her belly as she moaned in pain.

The sharp twist came again. Low and sudden and wrong. She doubled over with a stifled grunt, one hand bracing the floor, the other pressed against her stomach.

Ahri tensed. “What is it? What’s happening?”

Jinx didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes were wide, unfocused. That cramp.

Earlier that day, she had felt a dull ache, which she had attributed to sheer exhaustion. After being hunted by a deranged priestess, running around made sense as a reason for her discomfort. A lack of sleep certainly didn't help either—stress was piling up. It all seemed logical and harmless at the time…

‘It’s nothing. It’s just stress. It’s nothing…’

But this time, her body felt off. Like something was slipping. 

And those affirmations did nothing to soothe her nerves or her pain. 

It was as if her insides were trying to say something and screaming to be heard.

“I…I need the bathroom,” she mumbled, stumbling to her feet. Her legs barely obeyed her. Ahri rose quickly, instinctively moving to support her, but Jinx brushed past, ignoring the dizziness, the weight in her chest, and the sudden ice in her veins.

She shut the door behind her and flicked on the light. The white glare made everything sharper, crueler.

And then, she saw it. 

Not much. Just a faint smear of blood. But it was enough to wreck her.

Jinx stood frozen for a long, suspended moment. Her breath caught in her throat. Then, her hands gripped the edge of the sink so tightly that her knuckles paled, trying to hold onto something, anything, to not fall apart. 

“No,” she whispered.

Then louder.

“No. No. No—”

The bathroom light flickered as her breath spiraled into hiccupping sobs, the grief flooding back in a new shape now—deeper, heavier, terrifying.

Behind the door, Ahri waited. 

Still kneeling.

Still listening.

Still powerless to truly help her…

Chapter Text

When she saw blood, everything around her blurred. Jinx lost all sense of time. 

She couldn’t tell whether minutes or hours had passed. All she remembered was the cold floor, her trembling hands, the sticky sensation between her legs, and that horrifying certainty that something was wrong. Very wrong. 

She sobbed, cursing her luck and wishing everything would just shut off already.

What was the point of living anymore?

She couldn’t remember how long it took Ahri to open the bathroom door.

She’d called her more than once, insistent, but Jinx didn’t answer.

Not because she didn’t want to.

Because… she couldn’t.

She barely grasped much of what Ahri had said. 

Questions swirled around her—so many of them, urgent, anxious, and desperate. 

She let herself be led away, her gaze fixed on the full moon, the one constant in a world that felt like it was falling apart. Climbing into the boat, she couldn’t quite grasp why she was there, her mind stubbornly refusing to consider the stark reality—that she might have lost her baby that night.

Perhaps Ahri had asked about Dr. Goode’s clinic, but Jinx couldn’t bring herself to respond. She just couldn’t. So, the fox took her hand and led her to the regional clinic—somewhere that felt caught between a hospital and a junkyard, more reminiscent of Zaun’s makeshift outposts than a place that could save a life…

She paid no mind to the stares or the hushed whispers. 

Not even the oddly familiar male voice that cut through the murmurs of the waiting room, calling her name.

Nothing else mattered. The only thing that kept her from shattering into pieces was the grip of Ahri’s hand in hers.

They took her into a rapid care room, where cold hands suddenly began touching her without warning. Old, rusty machines buzzed around her, their purpose unclear and without her consent. Yet, she didn’t resist. In that moment, she felt like a ragdoll, her heart hanging by a thread and her mind teetering on the edge of collapse…

"I’m glad to let you know that the situation seems to have been merely a threatened miscarriage," Dr. Smyth said calmly. "The bleeding has stopped, and the contractions have subsided. The cervix is closed, as expected. Additionally, we can detect a heartbeat. While this was undoubtedly a distressing experience, they are expected to make a good recovery. You made the right choice by seeking medical help promptly."

A distressing experience, naturally. Merely that…  

Yet, the shaking in her fingers lingered.  

The fear was still present, stuck in her chest.  

And it would likely remain for quite some time…

“Why would my baby threaten me like that?”

“I don’t think that’s what ‘threatened miscarriage’ means, Jinx,” Ahri said softly.

“No… of course not…” Jinx whispered, shaking off the foolish thought. But now it felt as if her body was punishing her, not just her mind.

“It could be seen as a warning,” the doctor added. “All that stress wasn’t going to lead anywhere good...”

“But she said she already felt that pain before, when she fell,” Ahri cut in, avoiding mentioning it happened during a chase. “Jinx hit herself and confused the contractions with the impact. Couldn’t that be the reason?”

“That may have played a part, yes. But she should’ve stabilized afterward. She came in a bundle of nerves. Luckily, she said she was pregnant. Otherwise, they might have sedated her…”

“Sedated her for trembling, just like that? Without investigating more? Don’t you think that’s excessive?”

“What was excessive was the stress level she came in with. You need to work on that, Ms. O’Connol. And avoid putting yourself in dangerous situations like falls. Your babies are at risk with every poor decision you make…”

“You don’t have the right to talk to her like she’s to blame—!”

“Did you say babies?” Jinx interrupted suddenly, feeling once again like the ground was crumbling beneath her feet.

‘Probably a mistake,’ she thought. She tried to calm down. She couldn’t.

“I suppose I can give you more than one good piece of news tonight,” the doctor said as she turned the portable ultrasound machine back on—a modest version of Goode’s. “See? Two sacs. I don’t blame Goode for not noticing earlier; if your last visit was three weeks ago, they might’ve been too small. They’re just starting to show now. It’s still too early to know the sexes, but they seem okay. Are there twins in your family?”

Jinx didn’t fully understand what she was seeing on the screen, but she made out two darker circles, with something pulsing inside. Sacs, she guessed. Two. Going from fearing she had lost one baby to discovering she was carrying two was an enormous leap. Yes, preferable. But still overwhelming. And just like it had taken her weeks to accept she was pregnant, this too would take time to process...twins. 

She was going to have a pair of siblings…

“Siblings don’t do well in my family,” she whispered without meaning to, remembering her fight with Vi.

The doctor, despite her earlier tone, seemed to pity her before saying, “Well, there are always exceptions to the rule, right?”

“They’re strong like their mother,” said Ahri, as surprised as Jinx but trying to sound positive. “And if they’re okay, it’s thanks to her. Two babies. Will they be identical?”

“We can’t be certain without the right equipment,” the doctor said, waving her hand toward the shabby clinic. “If you're having a boy and a girl, that’s clear. But if it’s two of the same sex, we won't know until the birth. I have a few recommendations for you: take it easy—not complete bed rest, but try to avoid exercise, heavy lifting, or sex for at least two weeks. Also, do your best to steer clear of stress, if you can. Your body tends to react strongly to emotional stress, which can be harmful. Make sure to visit Goode as soon as possible so she can figure out what type of twin pregnancy you have. I’ll let you get dressed now.”

Ahri turned away to give Jinx some privacy as she dressed, focused on her growing belly. It seemed bigger than just a few hours ago. She understood it was mostly in her head, but still—twins? What on earth was she going to do with two of them?

“I thought you said you saw a girl…” Jinx muttered, almost childlike.

“I still do. I see souls, but not in the way you might expect. I can sense emotions and memories, but it’s rare for me to pick up on those with pregnant women, since what they carry hasn’t yet developed complex feelings or experiences like someone who’s already born. Whether they have a soul or not—I can’t say. But if they do, it’s beyond my perception. When I mentioned seeing a girl, I meant a presence, not a baby. I sometimes catch glimpses of the elderly, too; it doesn’t happen often, but it does occur. That’s why I didn’t see two souls—I typically don’t perceive babies.”

“It must be terrifying to be you. You know too much about people, and that can be quite inconvenient,” Jinx said.

“It is convenient, but it can feel uncomfortable. That’s why I try to be upfront about what I know, even when it’s unsettling. I think it’s worse to pretend I don’t know anything,” replied Ahri.

Jinx gestured for her to turn around, and Ahri’s expression softened when their eyes met. 

“Are you still scared?” she asked gently.

“Well, yeah. What am I supposed to do with two babies? It was tough enough coming to terms with one, and I didn’t even do that well; otherwise, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” Jinx admitted.

“That’s not on you. And that awful doctor shouldn’t have treated you like it was your fault. She’s one of the most judgmental people out there, and that kind of attitude has no place in her profession. I may not know much about medicine, but even I can tell that they all should be impartial…”

“What was it about me she was judging? Thinks I’m an addict?”

“Strangely enough, just your age. And the fact that you came with a friend…”

“Well, that’s new. But I’m not surprised. Everyone judges young mothers, especially when they’re alone. At least Sarah spared me that stigma with her ring. It’s so strange… In Zaun, people hardly ever marry, so it’s not that odd. I was used to Piltover judging. I guess it’s the norm…”

“That doesn’t make it right…”

Jinx shrugged and let out a yawn.

It had been one of the most physically and emotionally exhausting days of her life. 

All she wanted was to get home and sleep until every second of that damn hospital was erased from her memory. But leaving in a wheelchair? That was a whole new level of absurd—no matter how much they called it “protocol.”

“Protocol my ass. I’ve got legs. Two of them. The same ones I walked in with.”

Ahri gave her that look of infinite patience—the one she saved for when arguing was pointless.

“Just until the exit. It’s mandatory. In case someone passes out. Besides, I’m pushing, not some nurse. Isn’t that better?”

“I’m not going to faint, Ahri. She said ‘rest,’ not ‘induced coma.’ Walking won’t kill me.”

“Could you, for once, not fight about everything?”

“And could you stop talking to me like I’m five? I’m not some brat…”

Ahri sighed and started pushing the chair without warning. It groaned with a rusty squeal that echoed down the hall. Jinx squirmed in the seat, irritated.

“When was the last time they oiled this piece of junk? Before the fall of Oshra Va’Zaun?”

“So, you did read what I recommended! And here I thought you were ignoring me.”

“I’m not going to let you know more than I do about my own home. And don’t break the chair!”

Ahri’s nervous laugh blended with the metallic screech. They moved slowly. The lights flickered with a torturous rhythm, and unstable energy buzzed through the walls like a trapped insect.

And then, she saw him.

A male silhouette stood up from the bench by the door. Tall. Solid build. Measured movements. Something about his shadow, the way he leaned, that faint accent of home—hit her square in the chest. For a second, her heart raced with a name she didn’t dare say…

“Need help, ladies?” he asked with a crooked smile.

But no. It wasn’t him. What would Ekko be doing in a forgotten dump like this?

He had no reason to be here, especially not for her. She wasn’t that lucky.

As far as he was concerned, she was dead.

The guy wasn’t a stranger, but he wasn’t a friend either.

Hair tied up in a messy knot, amber eyes glowing like embers, Piltovian clothes way too polished for Bilgewater standards—dark tones, copper accents, and a respirator mask hanging around his neck like a useless talisman from Zaun. 

On this island, the air wouldn’t kill you. He probably would.

Jinx scowled when she recognized him.

“You,” she spat the word like it tasted of rust. “What are you doing here, Forty?”

“I could ask you the same. I thought I was seeing a ghost. But of course… Death parts spouses, and ghosts don’t wear rings. Nice choice, by the way. Who’s the poor bastard?”

“Not in the mood,” Jinx growled. “Not for jokes, not for idiots like you.”

Ahri halted the chair’s screeching wheels. She watched the scene like she could smell the fight before it began.

“You know him?”

“Wish I didn’t.”

“Hey, don’t be like that. Just wanted to check in. You looked like hell coming in, and I got worried. Can’t someone be nice without getting their eyes clawed out?”

“Nice? You? You’re just sniffing around for Chross. Give him the report: still crazy, still breathing. And as always, it’s a bad idea to mess with me.”

Forty laughed—that thick, dragging laugh like dirty oil over stagnant water. The same laugh Jinx had hated since she was fifteen. Just a couple of years older, they’d grown up on the same rusted streets. Her favorite pastime back then was annoying Silco, with him as an accomplice From a mere worker in Shimmer factories to Chross’ lapdog, he’d kept his number as a name. During the war, he claimed to have deserted Chross to fight with her and Ekko. Or so he said…

“Ah, Jinx… always so distrustful. I like that about you. Sharp. I just thought we could catch up. Remember when you used to point a rocket launcher at me? Good times…”

“I don’t need a weapon to shut you up. Get lost.”

Before it could escalate, Ahri stepped in.

“I think it’s time for you to leave,” she said with that calm voice that always came before the storm.

Forty raised his hands, smiling.

“Hey, hey… I’m just an old friend she hurt with the lie of her death. Like half of Zaun. Didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Ahri said, narrowing her eyes.

Jinx noticed the change—subtle but clear.

Forty’s shoulders dropped. His smile faltered, just a little, like something behind it cracked. The charm peeled away, leaving only a nervous, wounded, scared boy. 

Jinx almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“Leave,” Ahri said again, all politeness gone.

Forty stepped back, caught off guard.

“Fine. I’m going, vixen lady.” He turned to Jinx with one last crooked smile.

“You’re glowing. And unlike me, not everyone’s going to show mercy in your state. Especially after the mess we left in Zaun. Maybe they’ll blame you for what happened to your owl friend. Not me, though—I won’t say a thing, don’t worry. Free advice: don’t trust carnivores. Especially foxes. They love stealing chicks from the coop… Glad you’re okay. Don’t know why you’re here… But stay safe, Jinx.”

Jinx felt his eyes glance at her stomach and instinctively tried to cover it. But strangely, there was no malice in his gaze. No pity, either. She didn’t know what it was. But for a moment, she almost forgot that guy was dangerous. Almost…

What the hell was happening in Zaun now? Why would they blame her? 

What did Ekko have to do with it?

Her heart leapt at that last question…

Her legs itched to run. For answers. To interrogate Forty. To jump on a raft and sail back to Zaun—even alone, even if it killed her.

She could call… but no. She didn’t have the courage. 

Not after what happened with Vi.

She couldn’t hurt anyone else with her return.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, making sure they weren’t being followed.

Dawn was breaking. The sky was tinged with shades of rose and gold, and since Jinx was supposed to avoid strain, they moved slowly, unbothered by the fading darkness. They had time. Time that felt hollow.

“You're worried, but not about what that idiot might do.”

“Stay out of my head, Ahri.”

“I didn’t go in. I didn’t need to. Your face says it all. What can I do to calm you?”

“Tell me this: am I right not to fear he’ll turn me in? Because the smart thing would be…”

“I know,” Ahri cut in, stopping the darker thoughts. “He won’t say anything. He meant it when he promised. And also, when he wished you well.”

She paused, tilting her head.

“I have to ask... Why do you know him?”

"We used to be part of the same circle. He always had my back whenever I felt like stirring things up with Silco—until it stopped being funny. He claimed he wanted to leave that life behind, but clearly, that wasn’t the truth. If it were, he wouldn't be with Chross. I thought he’d join the Firelights after everything we faced during that battle… but then again, they expected the same from me. And with more reason, no less. But look at where I am now: twisted branches rarely straighten. Why do you ask? What did you see?"

“Nothing… Nothing bad, I mean,” she added quickly, seeing Jinx’s sharp glare. “Even though he was upset you lied to him, he’s genuinely relieved to know you’re alive. And like I said, he’s not planning to betray you. But... I got the sense he doesn’t like Ekko. He was pleased to tell you something had happened to him. And he didn’t like seeing the ring on your hand…”

“So what? Why would he care?”

“You tell me. You know him better than I do. I can feel what others feel, but I don’t read minds…”

“I don’t know him that well. And I don’t give a damn what he thinks of me.” Jinx spat, though her voice trembled near the end. “What I want to know is what happened in Zaun. To know what happened to Ekko. I would’ve asked Forty right there if he hadn’t been acting like an idiot…”

She brought a hand to her belly, as if she could shield her children from the uncertainty, from a past that insisted on coming back to ruin everything again. She hated having to admit she was scared and vulnerable. But that was her reality. And she had to stay upright. She had to try... to hold herself together.

“I know it can’t be good. No one’s telling me anything, and that says everything. And even though I’m not allowed to worry right now, not knowing is killing me. Zaun could be burning, and no one would be surprised... but Ekko…”

Her voice broke.

“I just want to know if he’s still whole. If he’s okay. He has to be okay…” she sobbed at last, cursing the hormones, her mind, and her heart for always giving in so quickly. 

The mere idea of something happening to Ekko tore her apart…

Ahri watched her silently for a few seconds. 

Not with pity, but with something rawer: understanding. 

The idea of Ekko being hurt shattered her more than many things she’d already survived. And that was saying a lot.

“He’s okay,” Ahri finally said, low but firm. “I’ll find out what happened, ok? Carefully. And if I learn something serious, I’ll deal with it… as much as I can from here, of course. But I’ll only tell you what I think you’re ready to hear. When you’re better. When you can take it. And you’ll have to trust that I’m doing the best I can with what I have. Because I want to help. Can you try?”

Jinx looked up, frowning, but without the strength to argue. She knew Ahri wasn’t trying to hurt her. But she hated being treated like she couldn’t handle the truth—even if deep down… she wasn’t sure she could. She clenched her jaw. She hated her a little, just for being right. She couldn’t stand feeling bound. Controlled.

But this time, it wasn’t just about her anymore…

“And in return?” She muttered, with that dry tone she used to hide the hurt.

“In return, you take the rest orders seriously. For the twins. For yourself. Use this time off to your advantage…” Ahri continued more gently. “Work on your prosthetic. The new one. You said you had blueprints, half-melted parts... You’re going to need at least two working hands to handle two babies at once…”

A broken, involuntary laugh escaped Jinx.

“Damn it. Don’t give me mom speeches. I know it’s going to be harder…”

“I’m not qualified for mom speeches, I know. I’m just reminding you that you’re not just dynamite and your past anymore. There’s more now. And you’re going to have to build with that, too.

“I guess. I hope they’re like Mylo and Claggor. Unlike Vi and me, their bond was just siblings and friends. Neither of them felt like they had to protect or earn the other’s love. Not like we did. I’ll be the one to protect them. And they’re already loved—surprise or not…”

“Staying calm is the best thing you can do to protect and love them right now. Sometimes the hardest thing is to do nothing, but it’s the right thing for now, okay?”

Jinx nodded silently. The anxiety was still there, but now she had a promise. A sliver of hope. Ahri could be trusted. She would help. She had to believe that.

They walked together toward the market. The sun had finally broken through the twisted rooftops, its first full rays touching the cobblestones. Voices were rising from the stalls, mingled with the sour scent of the sea, burnt oil, and overripe fruit.

They bought what they needed: food, medicine, some mechanical parts, and rusty spares. Jinx inspected with her usual critical eye. The world could fall apart around her, but she still knew how to tell a useful bolt from one that was two steps away from becoming scrap.

The return to the Serpent Isles was quiet. 

They were carrying more weight, sure—but the boat and the air felt lighter than before. 

Jinx didn’t say a single word the whole way back, and Ahri didn’t dare break the silence left behind by the storm—not until they were back on the ground…

"About what that guy said…" Ahri began, her ears drooping timidly.

"You don’t have to say anything, Ahri. It was nonsense. I know you’d never hurt me."

"Thank you…"

"It’s nothing?" Jinx replied, a little confused but comforted to see her a bit more at ease. "You think Vi already told Ekko I’m here? I bet her Kiramman knows by now."

"I don’t know, Jinx. You know her better than I do."

"I can’t decide what’s more typical of my sister: blurting everything out with that emotional clumsiness of hers… or keeping it all in so she doesn’t poke at old wounds. Maybe I should’ve gone to Demacia with Sarah. Could’ve spared everyone all this mess…" she sighed, tired, trying to help Ahri tie up the boat, but Ahri wouldn’t let her lift a finger. "Do you think it’s a good idea to call her? Sarah."

"If you want to, go ahead. But don’t get frustrated if she doesn’t answer. She might be out at sea."

"It hasn’t even been a month since she said it could take three—round trip to Demacia—and it already feels like an eternity."

And in a week, it would be two months since her “death.”

Two months since she’d decided to leave everything—leave him—behind.

“Sarah agreed to help me when I was just a wreck with a baby. Emphasis on just one..."

"She agreed to help you, no matter what. Knowing her, she’ll probably just laugh at your luck. Go on ahead to the house, okay? I’ll bring our stuff in a bit. I’m going to see Illaoi… make sure she holds up her end of the deal. And talk. It’s been years since we really talked."

"Go for it. I’ll try to make us breakfast in the meantime…"

"Is that a promise or a threat?"

"You’ll have to find out…"

They both laughed as they parted ways, though the good mood vanished the moment Jinx shut the door behind her.

Almost two months…

If Vi talked—and if Ekko was as safe and sound as her heart desperately hoped—then that would mean he’d find out the truth in the worst possible way:

That she’d been alive all this time.

That she’d left him crying again, like the damn coward she’d always been.

But unlike the other times, maybe this wound was too deep. 

Maybe, this time, she’d managed to break him. 

To kill, once and for all, that eternal love he claimed to feel for her… Or for the broken, helpless girl she used to be.

She wasn’t sure there was even a difference anymore.

Jinx had only seen him cry three times, and only once it hadn’t been because of her.

The first moment came when his mother, Inna, lost her battle for life at one of Zaun’s health outposts. Unlike her parents, who passed away instantly, Inna lingered for a few days after the enforcers' attack, leaving Ekko with a painful, flickering hope that she might pull through. 

Benzo, a friend of Vander’s, took him in for the time being. That’s where she met him—she used to follow Vander everywhere during that first year after he adopted her, terrified something bad would happen if she didn’t.

Ekko thought he was alone. She felt bad for spying on him, hidden behind a crumbling wall, but when he noticed her… he didn’t do anything to send her away. Or to leave.

"Your hair’s weird."

"So is yours. Looks like an old man’s."

"Yeah, I guess… Are they burning someone you knew in there?"

"No. My parents are gone. Gone for good. Dead and lost. That’s what Vi said."

"I’m sorry."

"Me too."

And so, they stayed there, in silence, mourning their losses with the clumsy stillness of children who hadn’t yet learned how to grieve. Sitting just far enough from the smoke rising from Inna and Wyeth’s bodies.

Weeks later, when Vander officially introduced them during a visit to Benzo’s shop, it sparked what would become the best friendship either of them would ever have.

The second time was after her suicide attempt.

They stayed locked in an embrace for what felt like forever, staring at each other like they could stop the world with their eyes. 

The tears fell in silence, but they didn’t stop.

She shook with guilt. For making him cry. For being the reason, his arms trembled around her like she might vanish. For hurting him. For the years she’d left him bleeding in silence, without even knowing.

And even though everything went to hell afterward, even though it all came undone... in that moment, she truly believed she could stay. That she could stop breaking him. That she could hold on forever.

But her damn mind… always found a way to destroy what she loved.

The third time, she saw him cry without him knowing she was there.

She had snuck back to the tree after the funerals, after surviving the explosion, after bandaging what was left of her lost hand. She just wanted one last night there, to grab a few things… and disappear for good.

She found him on the rooftop of their first kiss (well, her first kiss… his had been with someone else). He was alone. Staring into nothing. But she knew he was waiting for the fireflies, just like she did since the first time he showed them to her…

When she saw his shoulders tremble ever so slightly, she knew he was crying. Genuinely. Quietly.

She had to fight the urge to run to him, to hold him like he once held her.

Would he have felt even a flicker of relief that she was alive?

Or would he have thought she was just another hallucination—like she once thought he was, that night she almost ended it?

She would never know.

She had done this to them.

And now… now more than ever, she regretted it.

Because by his side, for a moment—however fleeting—she’d believed that love, that damned love, might still be the force that moved the most important things in life.

And in the short time she had him back, he became the gravity that kept her anchored to this world. All she had wanted was to live inside his golden gaze.

Maybe that’s why now she felt like she was drifting—like a dead leaf carried by the tide. But the problem—the most beautiful of her cursed problems—was that she wasn’t alone anymore. She was carrying two lives with her. And she knew it:

She should never have run.

She was alive.

And she should’ve stayed with him. Maybe then, her babies would’ve never been in danger.

She should’ve had blind faith that he loved her, not just a ghost that looked like her.

Her, with all her scars, just like he’d said.

That somehow, in a world where everything came with conditions, his love didn’t.

Despite her promise to Ahri, Jinx tried calling home once more—tried calling the Firelights—but no one picked up. In fact, the phone didn’t even make a sound, like the call had simply vanished into nowhere.

"How much you want to bet Vi smashed the phone?" she muttered darkly to no one.

They had that in common: the habit of breaking things when frustrated. Vi used her fists; she used whatever she had nearby that could do the most damage.

But maybe it was for the best. She had to trust Ahri—her judgment, her good faith.

And for at least two weeks, her biggest concern had to be picking names that sounded good together no matter what the babies’ gender happen to be…

Because she refused to have another Violet and Powder situation.

Two weeks.

She just had to stay calm for two weeks...

How hard could it be?

Chapter Text

"Dear friend across the river, my hands are cold and bare. Dear friend across the river, I’ll take what you can spare..."

Sabine—Zeri’s mother—murmured the lullaby under her breath, hoping it would keep her youngest from crying loud enough to give them away.

Zaun was strangled in silence, broken only by the occasional cough or whisper. Darkness clung to everything like mold. Flashlights and scattered fires flickered weakly, casting long, twitching shadows on the walls. The air buzzed with the hiss of cockroaches, rats, and winged insects—creatures that slithered and scuttled just out of reach—as the group crept closer to the tree.

"...We raise no mighty towers; our homes are built of stone. So come across the river and find the world below."

Their hearts stopped when flashlights snapped toward them, followed by the click of rifles. For one sick second, it felt like the end. Misidentified—probably because of Caitlyn’s enforcer uniform. Firelights didn’t take chances. But then Zeri’s sparks flared, lighting up her face and hands with unmistakable purpose. Not a threat. A plea. A signal. They were just trying to survive the blackout, like everyone in Zaun…

“Thank you, Kiramman...” Zeri whispered, her voice fraying at the edges.

Caitlyn’s radio crackled with more bad news—arrests, names of friends. Zeri felt the blood drain from her face at the thought of her baby siblings being dragged into something like that.

“Don’t thank me,” Caitlyn said, her voice low but gentler now. “We’ll talk later about that stunt you pulled. First, find somewhere safe to put the little one down.”

She nodded toward the sleeping blonde girl, curled in her sister’s arms, already snoring softly. Then she turned, walking straight toward Scar’s place to ask for Vi.

And there she was.

Asleep on a battered couch, a thin blanket thrown carelessly over her. Her face was puffy, eyes swollen like she’d been crying not long ago. Her hands were wrapped in dried, blood-crusted bandages. The sight made Caitlyn’s chest tighten. Worry. Guilt. All the unsaid things, catching up to her at once.

They shouldn’t have split up. Not like that. Now, they were both hurt…again.

She stepped closer. Quietly. Not ready to wake her just yet. She knelt beside her, brushing her fingers gently against Vi’s cheek, humming low, the same lullaby Sabine sang earlier—the one Vi always hummed when she got too lost in her head.

But Stillwater had left Vi light-sleeping and half-feral. The moment Caitlyn’s fingers touched her skin, Vi jolted awake. Her reflexes snapped in first, grabbing Cait’s wrist in a bruising grip before her brain caught up.

Then it hit her. It was Cait . She was safe .

Recognition landed heavy, and the tension bled out of Vi’s shoulders. Her grip loosened. Carefully, she brought Caitlyn’s hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to it while whispering apologies like a heartfelt prayer. 

Caitlyn hushed her, murmuring that it was okay, that she was fine. But her eyes flicked to the bandages, and her voice tensed. "Vi... who did this to you? "

Vi blinked. "Your hand’s hurt too."

She tasted blood, and guilt surged through her like bile. Caitlyn had come all this way. Risked herself. For her. Just because she felt abandoned when Cait left without explanations, Vi had dragged her into danger.

“It’s nothing,” Caitlyn said quickly. “I’m still not as good at roof-hopping as you. Just some glass. A scratch.” Then, quieter, colder, she asked again, “Who hurt you?”

She meant it. She wanted the names. She wanted their blood.

But Vi didn’t answer. Not right away. 

Her eyes welled up again. She folded into Caitlyn like a dying star, wrapping her arms around her like she’d disappear if she let go. Caitlyn held her, even as her own tears threatened to rise. What had broken her that badly in just a matter of hours?

Eventually, the story came out—halting, raw. 

From the moment she went to the tree to ask Scar about Ekko and Ezreal— to figure out what was really going on between them —to the blackout. 

And then... the real reason. The thing that shattered her. The call. Jinx .

Caitlyn didn’t say a word.

She couldn’t.

The name alone shattered what little calm she had left. 

Jinx was alive.

Alive .

She kept her face composed, or at least tried to. 

She held it all in — for Vi’s sake . 

But inside, it was so much worse… and infinitely more complicated now that Jinx was back in play.

Vi was still clinging to her, shaking. 

Caitlyn held her gently, calmly, though inside she was a war zone. 

Jinx. Alive. 

She couldn’t afford to feel. Not now.

“What… what do you plan to do? ” she asked at last, her voice carefully even.

Vi pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.

“I have to find her. She can’t be alone. Not now. Not with those thoughts. Something happened, Cait. I know her. She wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t serious.”

Caitlyn sighed, her brow furrowing.

“Vi, think. We don’t know what kind of mess she’s in or who else is involved. We don’t know what she’s planning or what even made her call in the first place. What we do know is that we already have enough to deal with here without adding whatever she brought on herself. The smartest thing would be to sit tight. Wait for Ekko to check in. Because clearly, he went after her. He’ll help her.”

“Wait?” Vi echoed bitterly.

“Exactly,” Caitlyn said, calm but firm. “After faking her death for months. Leaving Zaun in mourning. Nearly destroying Ekko… and you. You can’t just run to her like nothing happened. Jinx chose that life. She shouldn’t be dragging you back into it.”

Vi stepped away abruptly, her face contorted.

“I wouldn’t run to her like nothing happened. I’d do it because she might be in danger. Because she’s my sister! My sister , Caitlyn! How do you expect me to just leave her alone? She needs me!”

“Vi, I saw what she did to you. I watched you fall apart for months. Blaming yourself. Crying like you’d lost everything. And for what? So that one day, out of the blue, she can call from the other side of the world and pretend like nothing changed? You really think she needs you? That this isn’t just another one of her twisted games to keep your attention? She played with death, Vi. That’s cruel — even for her standards.”